Follow Me Down
by johnlocked91
Summary: A string of brutal murders bring Sherlock face to face with someone from his past. He must solve the puzzle before John ends up in the cross-fire. Mean while, John is trying and failing miserably at trying to find the perfect woman for him. The trouble is that the only person who fits in his life is his very male, very uninterested best friend.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello everyone. Just wanted to let you know that this is my first attempt at writing. I will try my best to make this story as entertaining as I can and the characters as in character as possible.**_

 _ **Please let me know how I am doing. I'm not really confident in my writing ability but it's something that I have wanted to do for long time.**_

 _ **So, hope you enjoy.**_

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John was tired.

He had just come off a twelve hour shift at the surgery and he could feel every minute of it in the ache of his tired muscles and the pounding headache he had acquired along the way.

He was also starving, having been unable to stop for a proper break during the chaos of sickness and injury that filled the hospital during his over-long shift.

Walking up the familiar creaking steps to the flat, he decided that his hunger out weighed his tiredness by at least a small margin.

Turning his key, he opened the door with a greeting.

"I'm back. Do have anything other than severed body parts in the fridge? Because I am-" The sight of Mycroft Holmes standing in the middle of their flat caused John to pause mid-sentence.

"Mycroft. To what do we owe this particular pleasure?" He asked as he hung his jacket by the door. "Do we have a new case?"

Mycroft looked to John, his emotionless eyes scrutinizing him as always.

"No. No case, Dr. Watson. I was just visiting."

John looked over at Sherlock as he heard his put upon sigh.

"Actually, my brother was just leaving." Sherlock said with a sneer in his elder brother's direction.

"Very well, Sherlock. I am extremely busy anyway." Mycroft conceaded, pulling his collar closer to his neck as he walked towards the door.

"I'll walk you out." John offered politely.

Mycroft turned with a strained smile.

"No need, Dr. Watson. Good day." Mycroft replied with a nod towards John before leaving.

"Ugh! Finally!" Sherlock complained as he dramatically threw himself onto the worn sofa.

John chuckled lightly making his way into the kitchen.

"He can't have been here long enough for that amount of fuss." John supplied as he opened the refrigerator.

"Damn't, Sherlock!" John yelled, slamming the door back closed. "I thought we agreed. No more severed heads!" John reprimanded disapprovingly.

Sherlock huffed

"We agreed to nothing. You made demands. I simply chose not to follow them."

John huffed at his unconcerned flat mate as he reached into the cabinet for the loaf of bread.

"You know, a little consideration would be nice once in a while, Sherlock." John grumbled, staring at the toaster.

Sherlock shot John an annoyed look. "I'm always considerate of you, John. I stopped doing experiments on the kitchen table, because you asked me too. I tidy up my work space once a week as agreed, because you asked me to. I apologized to Sargent Donovan last week when you _told_ me to."

"That's what you're supposed to do when you've done something wrong." John lamented as he spread jam over his toast.

"She started it. You didn't nag her to apologize." Sherlock complained petulantly.

"Ugh...I give up." John said with a sigh as he sat down in front of his first meal in hours.

"So, what was Mycroft doing over here anyway?" John asked between bites of his toast.

"He was congratulating me on another year of sobriety." Sherlock said annoyed.

"That was nice of him." John replied, finishing up his meal. Sherlock just huffed.

"How long has it been that you've been clean?" John asked curiously.

"A good while. The last time I used was roughly seven months before we met." Sherlock replied getting up and walking over to the kitchen. "I was found unconscious. Some idiot called Mycroft and he forced me into rehab." Sherlock supplied as he reached for the extra peice of toast he knew John had left there for him.

"Wow. I never knew you went into rehab. It worked out though, right? I mean you got clean." John replied passing Sherlock the jam.

"I suppose I should be thankful to my brother. Without his interference I would never have gained such an important asset as you." Sherlock thought aloud.

"What? How so?" John asked, confused.

"I had only been out of rehab for a week when you met me. Mycroft was insistent that I live with him but finally agreed to me living by myself on the stipulation that I find a flat mate." Sherlock supplied.

"So Mycroft is who I need to thank for gifting me with such a difficult flat mate, then?" John said with a smile.

Sherlock returned it before turning away and heading over to his chair.

"Well, I'm going to get some sleep." John said, standing up. "After I wake, maybe we could go out for dinner? Not sure I want to bring any groceries into the flat, what with that head in the fridge."

Sherlock looked to John with a slight smirk.

"Fine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Wet Spots and Misinformation**

The last vestiges of the setting sun peeked through the dusty, aged window, and flitted across John's face as he was roused from his sleep. Rubbing at his eyes he could just barely recall the last remnants of his dream. It had been a nice dream for a change. He had been having more and more nightmares since that night at the pool.

Blinking slowly, he tried to clear his foggy mind. His head felt heavy when he tried to lift it, so he tried sitting up again. Only slower this time.

He registered the soreness in his limbs that would probably take days to ease off.

Kicking the covers away, John stood and looked over at his alarm clock. Almost six.

Stumbling around John found his dressing gown and wrapped it around himself and headed down stairs.

He could smell the faint aroma of tea as he rounded the corner into the living room. Mrs. Hudson must have brought some on a tray. Sherlock never made tea.

Turning from the empty living room towards the kitchen, John could now see his friend lazily perched on the edge of the kitchen table, tea in one hand and his phone in the other.

The sound of footsteps had him glancing up at John with a small smile.

"Mrs. Hudson brought tea. It's over there." Sherlock pointed his phone towards the counter.

"I assumed as much." John replied walking towards the pot.

"So I was thinking we could go to this new Indian place that Lindsey told me about for dinner." John said as he poured himself a cup.

"Lindsey?" Sherlock asked not looking up from his phone.

"You know. My girl friend, Lindsey. Tall. Blonde. Works at the book shop downtown." John supplied dryly.

Sherlock looked to his friend.

"I thought she had broken things off with you." Sherlock answered.

John huffed, exasperated.

"No, she hasn't broken it off with me. Things have actually been going well for a change."

"As opposed to the nurse, the teacher, the dance instructor, and that one policewoman that always sounded like she was shouting when she spoke, you have a point."

"Yeah, yeah. Enough out of you." John spoke in between sips. "So, how about it? Indian food tonight?"

"That's fine." Sherlock answered, his attention back on his phone.

"What are you doing on that thing?" John asked, hand motioning towards Sherlock's phone.

"I am awaiting a text from Lestrade. He hasn't called in days with a new case so I sent him a text this morning asking if he had anything for us worth my time. I sent another one at one o'clock, and then another right before you woke but he still hasn't responded." Sherlock said put out.

"I think he has today off. He was saying something about taking his wife out to some lake the other day." John supplied.

"Tedious." Sherlock scoffed "Why he bothers, I do not understand. I've already informed him of his wife's affair. He should cut all ties with her and focus on his failing career."

John blew out a breath.

"He tries because he loves her, Sherlock."

"Love." Sherlock said with disdain. "Stupidity at it's finest."

"Yes. I forgot who I was speaking to." John answered. "I'm going to go have a quick shower and then we can go."

"Fine." Sherlock replied, eyeing his screen as if he could will Lestrade to text him with his mind. "I will be ready."

The Indian place had turned out to be pretty good. John had noticed that Sherlock had even finished half of his plate. Along with the meat he had kept stealing from John's plate, that almost made Sherlock's tally at two meals today. A record.

John could tell earlier that Sherlock was starting to get frustrated with the distinct lack of murder and puzzles in his life these past few days, but little by little over dinner he had lost the scowl he wore most times in between cases and had even laughed a couple of times. And though one of those times had been because John had spilled his drink, he would forgive Sherlock as long as he was out of his funk.

"I'm stuffed. I feel like I could burst." John said, rubbing at his belly as they walked out of the restaurant.

"You certainly ate enough to." Sherlock teased.

"Shut up, you!" John said in mock anger, clipping Sherlock's shoulder.

"It's nice out tonight. Maybe we should walk home." John said looking over to his friend as they made their way along the lit up street.

"I don't mind, but _you_ may." Sherlock said. A smirk slowly growing on his face.

John looked to him in confusion.

"Why would I mind? I'm the one who suggested it."

Sherlock brought his gaze down to John's middle, then a little lower, his lips quivering slightly.

"Well, you look as though you are a toddler that couldn't hold his bladder long enough to make it to the potty."

John's confusion morphed into red faced humiliation in seconds as he followed Sherlock's gaze to the crotch of his trousers.

A substantial wet spot covered the entire area. Stopping short he looked to his friend angrily.

"You let me walk around like this without telling me?" He screeched. Sherlock had lost his composure then, laughing loudly and wiping at his eyes.

"You-You arse hole!" John yelled, trying to pull his jacket down to cover the spot and failing miserably.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just-" more laughter "-you look so dreadfully ridiculous." Sherlock managed between bouts of childish laughter.

"Oh. That's just great." John said sarcastically. "No. Go ahead. Laugh at my unfortunate circumstances. You're a wonderful friend."

Sherlock tried desperately to hold in his snickering as he looked at the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

"Sorry. I'm finished." He said.

John looked up at him skeptically.

"You sure? Wouldn't want to interrupt your fit of girly laughter." John answered, still quite pissed.

Sherlock smiled at his angry friend and wrestled himself out of his coat.

"Here." He offered as he wrapped his thick coat around John's shoulders. "That should cover it quite efficiently."

John pulled the coat tightly around himself and looked to his friend surprised, some of the anger evaporating.

"Thank you." He said quietly.

Sherlock moved his hands back to the coat and moved quickly, buttoning it all the way up.

"There. Now you wont have to hold it closed." He said with a smile.

"Still can't believe you let me walk by so many people before you told me." He grumbled, though now he was smiling brightly.

"So it's true!" They heard a distinctly female voice shout. Turning to the source John was taken aback.

"Lindsey?" John asked, surprised to see his girlfriend standing in front of them, red faced and trembling.

"Don't you _Lindsey_ me, you cheating bastard!" She yelled making her way in front of John.

"Cheater? Lindsey, what are going on about?" John asked absolutely confused now.

"You! And-And him!" She screamed jutting her pointer finger into Sherlock's face.

"Lindsey." Sherlock nodded in greeting. That is what one was supposed to do when encountering their friends significant other.

"You shut up, home-wrecker!" She spat at him.

John took a step towards her, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Now just wait a minute, Lindsey. I am not cheating on you and definitely not with _Sherlock_." John tried to explain, but hearing his name brought fresh tears to his girlfriends eyes.

"I can't believe you're denying it when I've caught you!" She yelled frantically. "That Indian place I took you to on our last date? My friend works there. The other day I showed her a picture of you. Sh-She saw you two! She said you were flirting with each other the whole time!"

John huffed in annoyance.

"We were not flirting Lindsey. He's my flat mate. I told you about him on our first date. We work together. We're friends. That's it."

Lindsey laughed bitterly.

"You know what? Maybe you would have had a chance in convincing me before I saw it for myself."

"Oh, what are you on about now? We ate dinner. It happened to be at a restaurant. Doesn't mean we are romantically involved." John said, irritated. Sherlock, he noticed was standing off to the side uncaring, typing away on his phone. Probably texting Lestrade again, instead of helping him explain this away, the bastard.

"I'm not talking about the restaurant! I'm talking about what I saw right here!" She said hoarsely. "I saw you two! Him putting his jacket on you and b-buttoning it up! I saw the way you were looking at him, John!"

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock look up at that. He could feel his friends eyes on him as he replied.

"You're being ridiculous, Lindsey! He lent me his coat because...I needed it. I was cold. And I wasn't looking at him in any special way." John replied as calmly as he could though he was close to losing his temper.

"I'm not an idiot! Friend or not, no one buttons up a jacket for a friend. That's far to intimate! And I know what I saw!" She yelled, looking over at Sherlock angrily.

"And you!" She yelled at Sherlock now. "Do you always go around stealing people's boyfriends? Huh? He is a man! It's just wrong, you freak!"

Sherlock looked to her about to respond to her idiocy when John stepped in front of him.

"Lindsey shut up." John said sternly. "Now I've been standing here taking abuse and being accused of things I haven't done, but I will not have you call him a freak. He has done nothing wrong. _I_ have done nothing wrong for that matter and if I had known that you were such a judgmental, bigoted person, I never would have asked you out to start with. Goodbye Lindsey. Loose my number, yeah?" And with that John turned, Sherlock's coat fluttering slightly behind him, and grabbed Sherlock's arm to pull him along.

"Let's go home." He said quietly. He swore he could still hear Lindsey yelling even after they had made it a mile away.

Once they had made it to the flat, John let out a long breath.

So much for this one working out, John thought to himself. Taking in another breath, the scent of Sherlock's cologne invaded his senses, reminding him that he still had the other man's coat.

Quickly removing it, John hung it up then discarded his own jacket hanging it as well. When he turned Sherlock was sitting in his chair looking at him with a blank expression which changed when he saw that John was looking at him. John quickly turned away, feeling caught out.

"John-" Sherlock called out.

Looking back over to his friend, John noticed that he seemed to be struggling for words. That had only happened twice in all the time John had knew him. Once with Irene Adler and once that night at the pool when he had tried to sacrifice himself to kill Moriarty.

"I want to thank you for what you did." Sherlock said quietly. "I am not used to being defended."

John smiled warmly at his friend.

"It was nothing. You're my friend. It's what friends do. Besides, I hate it when people call you that. You're not a freak. You're amazing, if anything."

Sherlock gave John a surprised smile before he lowered his head. After a few moments John noticed the slight tremble in his friend's frame.

Could he have been affected so much by what John said that he would be.. _..crying_? John had never seen the man cry, or even look truly sad, but he was a human being with human emotions just like everyone else whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John asked, taking a tentative step towards his friend.

Sherlock was shaking in earnest now and John leaned forward to try and sooth his friend. He could hear Sherlock speaking softly and leaned even closer to hear.

" _the spot...I can't...hrmph_..." He heard before Sherlock shot his head up suddenly, howling with laughter.

"I can't take you seriously John!" Sherlock said between laughs. "Especially with that spot right at eye level-" Sherlock broke off with another fit of laughter.

Then John remembered. He looked down at the wet spot on his trouser's with more hate than they deserved, before looking back to his friend.

"I can't believe you! You are such an Arse hole!" John seethed. "I was trying to have a deep, meaningful conversation with you!" John turned on his heel heading towards the stairs to his bedroom.

"I'm going to bed. You can make your own damn tea!" John yelled before slamming his door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

Sherlock looked even more exquisite today than he had yesterday. If Taylor Dennis thought that he could not possibly fall harder for the tall brunette, he was mistaken.

He could faintly hear the smooth baritone of Sherlock's voice as he watched him from afar.

Oh, how long had it been since he had heard that voice speak to him, or see his striking blue, green eyes boring into his soul? Taylor didn't even have to think about it. He knew down to the day how long it had been. One year, six months and eight days.

When he had met Sherlock he was broken. He had wanted nothing more than to put him back together again, so he had asked to be the nurse in charge of his care during his time in rehab.

And he eventually succeeded. The broken shell of a man had become an exquisite masterpiece right before his eyes.

Sherlock spoke to no one in that place except for him. He had told him stories of how he had put away murderer's, rapists, kidnappers, and Taylor was thoroughly charmed.

When he had found out that Sherlock would be leaving in a week, he had let his feelings be known.

Sherlock had explained to him that he did not feel attraction towards anybody, and never had, and while Taylor had been disappointed, a part of him thought it fitting.

Something so beautiful shouldn't be tied down to something as trivial as love or attraction.

No. It was better that Sherlock remain untouched, perfect.

He was brought back from his inner thoughts by the sound of laughter. Sherlock's laughter.

God, he was amazing. He wished that it could be him that made him laugh like that, but Sherlock had chosen that Doctor.

It was hard to remain passive when that man got to spend so much time with Sherlock, but he always calmed himself. After all Sherlock felt nothing for that Doctor. He didn't feel things for anyone.

A shout in the distance had Taylor turning to see a blonde woman standing on the street, yelling in Sherlock's direction.

Bits and pieces of the conversation carried over to him, causing him to shiver with fury.

He must have heard wrong, right? Sherlock didn't feel those kinds of things.

He didn't want that Doctor. He didn't want anyone.

More yelling shot through the empty street but Taylor couldn't hear over the sound of his own blood rushing through his body.

That doctor had to have forced this on Sherlock. That's the only way-

Yes. John Watson had forced Sherlock.

This wasn't Sherlock's fault. He was being taken in by that vile man.

How dare he! How dare he try to take what belonged to no one. Sherlock Holmes was untouchable.

He had to calm himself. Punishment would come to John Watson, but he had to remain hidden for now.

He made himself take a few deep breaths, but it was doing him no good.

That disgrace was dirtying up Sherlock's coat with his foul stench. He was putting his hand on him, pulling Sherlock to him, as if he had the right.

He had to go home. He could not follow them home. It would do no good to be sloppy. He needed to save Sherlock and the only way he could do that would be to send him a message.

Sherlock would soon be free from his prison. Taylor would make certain of this.

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Sunday afternoon. It was always peaceful around the flat. Sherlock, like most every other Sunday was out. John had taken the morning to tidy up around the flat and now he hat in his chair sipping his tea slowly as he read a book.

All good things had to come to end though, especially if your were flat mates with one Sherlock Holmes.

The man in question had just flung open the door, the scent of cigarette smoke wafting over towards John, making him wrinkle his nose slightly.

"Sherlock, you were doing so well." He said disappointed.

Sherlock gave him a scathing look before flopping into his own chair.

"You have no idea what it's like, John." Sherlock began.

John shot him a dark look.

"If you start in on me about how ordinary my brain is again, Sherlock, I won't be responsible for my actions. I'm still quite annoyed with you over last night." John warned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Last night doesn't matter, John." He whined. "Nothing matter's except finding a new case."

"Have you checked the blog?" John asked, setting his book onto the coffee table.

"Of course I checked the blog, John. There was nothing!" Sherlock shouted as he got up and started pacing. "No kidnappings! No murder! Why can't someone just die already?" He asked, falling onto the sofa dramatically.

"Bit not good, Sherlock." John reprimanded. "Normal people generally don't wish for murder to befall someone."

Sherlock sunk deeper into the cushions and huffed.

"Well, I'm far from normal, John."

John snorted.

"Oh, you got that right." He replied.

After a few minutes of quiet passed, John picked up his book again and began reading. He had nearly gotten through an entire chapter when Sherlock spoke again.

"John?" Ha called roughly.

John sighed and looked over to his sullen friend.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I'm bored." He complained.

"Why don't you tidy up your bedroom?" John suggested, knowing the idea would be shot down.

"Tedious." Sherlock said as he turned on his side facing John. "Let's play a board game, John."

John lifted his brow, shaking his head minutely.

"Ah, no. We will not be playing a board game ever again, Sherlock. You already know they are banned."

Sherlock huffed, indignantly.

"Just because I always win." He remarked.

"No. It's because you never follow the rules because you are a sore loser." John explained. "Why don't you visit with Molly. I'm sure she probably has all kinds of body parts for you to choose from."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Don't try to manage me, John. I'm not a child." Sherlock complained.

"Then stop acting like one." John answered as he pulled his book closer. "And let me read in peace."

Sherlock let out a loud breath but quieted after that. John had gotten maybe ten pages further into the book when Sherlock broke the silence yet again.

"John?" He called out.

John just kept reading.

"John?" Sherlock whined this time. Still no response.

A piece of balled up paper smacked John in the face, causing him to jump.

"What, Sherlock? What?" He asked, exasperated.

"Entertain me." Sherlock replied as he sat up.

"Entertain you? What are you, seven?" John said disbelieving.

Sherlock ignored the jibe.

"There is no case and you won't permit me to smoke, therefore it falls on you to keep me preoccupied."

John huffed, rolling his eyes, but put his book down.

"Fine. What do you want to do?" John asked.

"Teach me some fighting techniques." Sherlock answered almost immediately.

"I thought you trained in hand to hand combat already." John commented.

"I have studied it, but I could stand to learn some more. You are quite a gifted fighter. I thought you could teach me some things." Sherlock said, hopeful.

John smiled lightly, pleased at his friends praise.

"I guess I could give you some pointers about your stance and your hand placement, maybe teach you some close combat escape maneuvers." He said, looking around.

"We'll need to move around some furniture then."

1 hour later

"Damn." John wheezed out through harsh breaths from his position on the floor. Sherlock sat straddling his thighs, breaths coming just as fast, with a victorious look plastered on his face.

"I do believe I won this time." Sherlock said smugly as he momentarily tightened his grip on John's wrists before loosening them up again.

John rolled his eyes.

"You know I only let you win to help build your confidence." He remarked while maneuvering his legs to break free.

Sherlock brought both of his feet inward, pressing down hard right at John's knees, stopping the movement.

He smiled smugly again.

"I think I have in fact beaten you." He said leaning forward to switch his hold, grasping one of John's wrists in each hand and pushing them down firmly above John's head. "You should admit defeat, John."

John flustered slightly as he tried wiggling out of Sherlock's grasp and failed once again. He looked up at his friend, who was regarding him with a knowing smile. The smug bastard. Thinking quickly, John only saw one course of action. Playing dirty, because there was no way in hell he was ever going to admit defeat to Sherlock Holmes.

"My shoulder." John wheezed out. "You're….it hurts." He said putting it on thick. He saw the immediate worry in Sherlock's eyes as he felt him loosen his grip dramatically.

John wasted no time in reversing their positions, and grinned down at his friend as what happened sunk in.

"Faking injury is not fair, John." Sherlock pouted. He tried to break free a couple more times before giving up and glaring up at his friend.

"There is no fair in a fight, Sherlock." He said, his smile growing. "Now, you admit defeat and I'll make us some tea." He said, tightening his grip on Sherlock's wrists.

Sherlock said nothing through his labored breaths. He had most likely used up all of his energy on the last failed attempt to break free.

He was sweating slightly, his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink, his chest heaving from his exertion. He looked utterly debauched.

Sherlock's shirt had ridden up during the struggled to reveal the pale, smooth skin of his stomach and John eyes decided to take on a life of their own and raked across his torso, stopping, focusing intently where his bottoms clung low on his narrow hips.

What the actual fuck? John thought to himself. He needed to stop looking.

The last thing he needed was to be caught out staring and Sherlock getting the wrong idea, but Sherlock just looked so…..different right now.

Yes. That had to be it. John had never seen Sherlock like this. All disheveled and….and breathing all heavy.

"John." Sherlock called and even his voice sounded wrecked. Something low in the pit of John's stomach tightened and he shot his eyes up to his friends.

Sherlock looked slightly irritated as he darted his tongue out across his slightly dry lips and spoke.

John's eyes had zeroed in on the movement like a homing missile. What the fuck was wrong with him? He knew Sherlock had said something, but all he was picking up was the rushing of his own blood in his ears and holy fucking christ, was he actually getting aroused by this? A quick look downward confirmed his fears.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to hide a semi-erection from Sherlock. He was practically straddling him.

"John, did you hear me?" Sherlock said annoyed.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He was starting to freak out. He had to get it together. Calm the fuck down. His body was probably just confused by their position. It had been a week since he and his now ex-girlfriend had shagged and his body reacted to their proximity.

Not Gay. John thought. Just horny.

"Sorry. What did you say?" John asked taking deliberate slow breaths as he looked down at his friend.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, his breath coming out in a hot puff against John's neck, and he felt it all the way down to his toes.

Shit! He needed to get a handle on this.

Think…..Mycroft in a g-string vacuuming his flat.

Bloody hell that was vile, but it was doing the trick. He looked back to Sherlock as he spoke.

"I said I admit defeat. Now let me up and make me tea." Sherlock demanded petulantly.

John gave one more cursory glance down at his now very uninterested dick and leaped off his friend as quickly as was humanly possible and bounded into the kitchen to make the tea.

Tonight he needed to go out, get very well shagged, and he would be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

John Watson prided himself in the fact that he did not pursue one night stands. He had more respect for women and for himself to even consider it.

Tonight however, John had thrown that pride straight out of a ten story window.

Oh, he had tried to take out the nice woman from the market who had flirted with him on occasion when he would pop in for the grocery shopping, but after two dates, two nights in a row, he new a lost cause when he saw it. They had nothing in common, which was probably centered around the fact that she was a good ten years younger than he had assumed.

Tonight would be different though, John thought as he took a sip from his beer, looking around the dimly lit club.

This was so not his kind of place, but desperate times and all that.

John shook his head abruptly as the reason he was here in the first place came flooding back through his slightly inebriated fog he had managed.

No. He would not think of those mishaps anymore. He had already promised himself.

Except, that had been impossible ever since he had popped an erection while he and Sherlock had been sparing three days ago.

John gave a weak laugh. Hell, he maybe could have pushed it deep, deep into the recesses of his mind, never to see the light of day again if he could stop thinking about it every ten minutes.

The thing was, John new he wasn't gay.

He had been on the receiving end of quite a few less than innocent stares form men while in the military and he had honestly given each one consideration.

But in the end, he just wasn't interested in men.

That's why he knew now that what had happened was not because he was suddenly attracted to a man. It was simply that he hadn't gotten off in weeks. A total accidental boner.

After all his dick had no way of knowing that it was his very male best friend that had been underneath him.

"Hi."

John turned, slightly startled out of his inner thoughts, at the greeting.

A tall dark haired woman had taken the seat to his right and was smiling warmly in his direction.

John returned her smile.

"Hello." He replied over the music.

"You looked like you could use some company." She said, taking a sip from her drink.

John gave another smile.

"You would be right." He said, taking a drink himself. He had to fight back the urge to ask her back to his place right then and there. Even if he was only looking for a quick fuck, there was still an order to things.

Setting his glass down, he started again.

"My name's John." He said, holding out his hand in front of her. She placed her hand inside of his and gave a firm squeeze.

"Shannon." She supplied. John gave what he thought to himself as one of his best flirty grins.

"So, Shannon, what brings you out tonight?" He asked, trying to sound casual. She placed her fingers around the stem of her glass, looking over a little shyly.

"For fun." She replied. "Well, I was having fun, but apparently the guy I came with thought that the blonde over there was a lot more interesting." She said and gave a nod over to a couple dancing quite erotically on the dance floor.

John leaned in ever so slightly.

"Well, he must be an idiot. You're far prettier than that girl is." He replied, and he wasn't even lying.

She was very pretty. Tall, fair skinned. Long, dark hair coming down in loose ringlets around the striking features of her face. Soft looking lips with a slight bow, and her eyes were the deepest shade of blue. John let his eyes travel down her dark blue dress. She was slender, but not unhealthily so. Her dress was fitted but not sleazy.

John looked back up at her with a big smile. Hopefully she would let him take her home.

John struggled to get his keys out of his pocket as Shannon continued to kiss her way down his neck.

Finally finding the right key, he stuck it into the knob only to falter as he felt her warm hand rub over the growing bulge in his pants.

"Christ." He said roughly, opening the door to the darkened flat. Shannon giggled as she pressed herself against him going in for another kiss. John's hands tangled in her dark curls as he thrust his tongue inside her hot mouth.

God, this was good. He ground himself against her once before he pulled back, suddenly remembering something very important.

"Let's go to my room. I have a flatmate, who, for the sake of everyone, should stay asleep." he whispered as he took Shannon by the hand and led her as quietly as possible up the stair case to his room.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

John awoke with a pounding headache. Slowly blinking his eyes, the night before came rushing back to him and he turned slightly to see Shannon fast asleep in his bed. John glanced at his alarm clock. It was still pretty early. Only seven, but John didn't want to go back to sleep. He slowly got out of bed and dressed quickly in a pair of worn jeans, a t-shirt and a light blue jumper. He could shower after he had some tea.

Making his way down the stairs, he could hear Sherlock's deep, sleep rough voice talking to someone on the phone.

Sherlock had hung up right as John made it to the kitchen.

"Morning." John said, pulling down a mug and putting water to boil.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock replied sliding out a kitchen chair and sitting down lazily.

"Thank god you're awake. Tea would be lovely right now." Sherlock said with a yawn.

John chuckled.

"You know, if you wanted tea, you could have tried making it." He said taking down a second mug.

"Dull." Sherlock said absently, scrolling through his phone.

"What will I do with you?" John asked fondly as he prepared their tea and walked it over to the table.

"I'm thinking I'll have some toast and jam, do you want some as well, Sherlock?" John asked pulling out the toaster. "Sherlock?" He asked again, grabbing for the bread.

"John." Sherlock started. "There is a semi naked female in our kitchen." He stated matter of factually.

John turned quickly to see Shannon standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a shy smile. She was wearing one of John's Sleep shirts and his slippers.

"Good morning." She said with a tiny wave. John smiled awkwardly.

"Morning. Would you like some tea? Toast?" He asked. He was surprised he was still able to look her in the eyes after the stuff they had gotten up to last night.

"Some tea would be nice." She answered glancing around the flat and then to Sherlock, who was back to scrolling through his phone.

John poured her a cup and gestured towards the empty chair by him.

"Please, sit." He offered politely.

"Thank you." She replied taking the offered seat and turning back towards Sherlock.

"You must be the flat mate John didn't want to wake last night." She said smiling. Sherlock looked up towards the woman and then John, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly before looking back over towards her again.

"Yes. That would be me." He replied looking back down at his phone.

"I'm Shannon." She said with a smile. Sherlock looked back up at her blankly.

"Sherlock Holmes." He replied before turning his attention back to what he was doing.

"John tells me you're a Police detective. It must be awfully exciting." She answered back enthusiastically.

Sherlock frowned slightly over his phone. He had thought the conversation was over. John's dates normally never spoke to him.

What was wrong with this one?

Could she not see that he was busy?

John must have noted the irritation in his friends eyes, because as soon as he looked up and opened his mouth to reply, he got a swift kick under the table and a pointed look from John.

John was exasperating sometimes. Sherlock knew very well how to play nice.

"I'm a Consulting Detective. I work with the police." He answered and this time waited. Was that all or was she going to continue speaking to him? Why didn't she speak to John? After all John's the one she had sex with, not him.

John, it seemed had been busy with the toast and was now placing a tray in the middle of the table. Sherlock decided that it was safe to return to his phone as John and his date began chatting.

After a few minutes Shannon stood.

"I'm going to go get dressed. I have to be at work in a couple of hours. Excuse me." She said with a smile aimed at John. He stood as well.

"Of course." He answered and watched her walk up the stairs before he sat back down.

"This one is different." Sherlock stated, without looking at his friend.

"How do you mean?" John asked puzzled.

Sherlock looked up then, his eyes calculated.

"You have a type John. She does not fit it." He stated dully.

"I don't have one specific type. I like all sorts of different women." John defended himself.

Sherlock huffed his annoyance.

"No. You show a 98% natural propensity towards females of a more curvacious nature. You also prefer lighter hair shades and you never look twice at a woman if her bra size is not at least a C."

John stared open mouthed at his friend. He wanted to argue, but when he thought about it, Sherlock was actually right. Damn him and his skills of observation.

"It disturbs me that you have knowledge of what kind of women turn me on, though truth be told, Shannon may be different from what I normally go for, but there's something about her." John thought aloud. "It apparently works if last night was anything to go by."

Sherlock looked slightly affronted.

"Oh please, spare me the details, John." He bemoaned.

Shannon came down the stairs and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen once more.

"Well, I'll be going then." She said, smiling self-consciously. John met her in the doorway and gave her a warm smile.

"I enjoyed last night. Maybe we could go out sometime?" He asked hopeful.

She beamed at him and quickly pulled him into a hug.

"I'd love that." She said against his cheek before giving a quick peck and stepping away.

"Let me walk you to the door." John offered, following her.

"No, it's alright. You just go about your day." She said cheerfully as she made her way out of the flat.

"John, If you are going to be seeing her again, and by that enamored look on your face I believe I can affirm this, you really must speak to her about her communicative tendencies. I have no interest in forming any type of "special connection" with her simply because the two of you are having intercourse." Sherlock grumbled.

John chuckled lightly at his friends anti-social temperament.

"Was the three sentences she spoke to you to much, then?" He asked mockingly. Sherlock didn't answer, but the scathing look he turned towards John was answer enough.

Timid footsteps up the stairs had both of them snapping their heads towards the door.

"Could Shannon have forgotten something?" John asked taking a step forward but stopped as he saw Sherlock practically leap for the door and turn the knob.

"Ah, Molly." Sherlock greeted. "I take it you have what I asked for?"

"Yes. Four livers, just as you requested." Molly replied shyly, holding out a white cooler.

Sherlock took the cooler out of her hands and opened the lid, peering inside for a brief moment before spinning around towards the kitchen.

"Excellent work, Molly." He praised, gleefully.

John watched as Molly's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red as she smiled happily.

"Won't you come in? I'll just get you some tea." John offered to the poor girl. He really felt sorry for her sometimes.

"Oh. Yes, well that would be-" Molly started, but Sherlock's over-enthusiastic voice drowned her out.

"Of course she can't stay, John. Molly needs to be back at Bart's scrounging up the other items on my list." Sherlock answered from his position over his newest experiment.

"Oh. Yes. I should be getting back." Molly stuttered out.

John gave Sherlock a stoney look before turning to Molly with a smile.

"Don't listen to him. Have some tea with me." He said, easing her inside with a hand to her back.

"Um, I really should be getting back, but thank you." She answered with a timid smile before leaving.

Once John had heard the front door close he turned on Sherlock with a frown.

"You need to be nicer to her, Sherlock." John scolded. "The poor girl does nothing but try to impress you, and you always hurt her feelings."

Sherlock shot John a horrified look.

"We are not going to get into another one of your lectures on feelings are we, because-"

Sherlock's phone rang, stopping him mid-sentence, and he picked it up quickly, answering.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock, I've got a case here I think might interest you, if your free?" Lestrade asked hopeful.

"And why might it interest me?" Sherlock asked, feigning dis-interest. He was bored and would take practically anything right now.

Lestrade huffed.

"Two bodies. Both mutilated. I think it's the work of a serial killer. We found the first victim yesterday. He's at St. Bart's. The second was called in about an hour ago. I'm thinking there will be another if we don't figure this out."

A serial killer.

Sherlock had to suppress his utter glee at the idea. No point in getting yet another lecture from John.

"Fine." He said, trying for nonchalance. "Text me the information. I'll meet you at the crime scene."

"Lestrade has a case for us." Sherlock said trying to contain his smile as he looked to his friend.

Sherlock pulled on his coat and waited all of five seconds before huffing an exasperated breath and grabbing John's jacket off it's hook as well.

"Aren't you coming?" He asked, annoyed as he walked towards him, trying to put the jacket on John himself.

"I can put on my own clothes, Sherlock!" John complained, pushing Sherlock's hands off of him and pulling his jacket on. "You're so impatient." He mumbled.

Sherlock had already made it halfway down the stairs.

It must be a good case, John thought.

/


	5. Chapter 5

**So I hope that everyone is enjoying this story. It is my first, but I'm learning as I go. Please let me know what you think if you have the time. I'm a little shy about my writing. I'm hoping to get some feedback on how I'm doing. Thanks and enjoy!**

 **CHAPTER FIVE:**

The crime scene was much more gruesome than any John had seen in all his time working with Sherlock.

Even from the very edge of the alley way, John could tell that whoever had killed this man, had done so with an extreme hatred.

Lestrade stood beside him as they watched Sherlock shift around the body gracefully, gathering clues that no ordinary man could.

"Hell of a crime scene, this one." Lestrade said troublingly. "So much blood."

John grimaced as he looked over to the large pool of it surrounding the victim.

"Carved the letter "A" right there on his abdomen." Lestrade continued. "Course that was after all the beating and stabbing. I'd say easily over 30 stab wounds."

"My God." John replied alarmingly.

They both studied Sherlock as he bent forward over the body carefully.

"He looks like he figured something out." Lestrade commented tiredly. "At least I hope he has."

John gave a sympathetic smile.

"He's Sherlock. He always figures it out." He said with certainty. Lestrade tore his eyes away from the detective and gave John an answering smile.

"Ain't that the truth." He answered. They both turned to look at Sherlock as he called out.

"John, your assistance please."

John stalked over to his friend, the stench of so much blood making him slightly nauseous.

Sherlock stood and regarded John for a moment before beginning.

"What do you see, John?" Sherlock asked.

John crouched down over the victim to get a better look, trying not to breath to deeply.

"White male. Maybe mid-thirties." He remarked as he cataloged all of the damage on the victim. His face had been beaten so bad, it could hardly be called a face anymore.

"Blunt force trauma to the face. Multiple stab wounds on his chest and arms. Maybe defensive wounds." He said as he focused on the victims stomach. "The letter was most likely carved post-mortem." He finished looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock gave a small approving smile before schooling his features into his normal uncaring blankness.

"Very good John. Though you missed the most important thing about the body." He said with his usual arrogant flourish.

John looked down to where Sherlock now squated, pulling open the long coat all the way, revealing the victims lower regions. Trousers unzipped and-

"My God." John squelched, turning slightly away.

"His genitalia has been removed." Sherlock explained, though it was fairly obvious.

John felt his stomach flip and stood up taking a step back. Sherlock followed, pulling a bag out of his coat pocket.

"I found this in his coat. It is a message." Sherlock said quietly. John took another calming breath, looking over the bag Sherlock held up to him.

"Great. Let's give it to Lestrade. Maybe it has some clue as to who the killer is." John answered.

Sherlock quickly placed the bag back into his pocket.

"I'm sure you are right John, but I don't think I'll be giving this to Lestrade." Sherlock said, keeping his voice low.

"And why not?" John asked.

"Because," Sherlock answered. "It is addressed to me."

John was just about to reply when Lestrade came bounding over.

"Oi, Sherlock. Got anything I can use?" He asked, clearly hopeful.

"I take it the first victim is in similar condition?" Sherlock asked.

"Exactly the same." Lestrade answered.

"I need more information." Sherlock supplied. "Get me both victim's names. Have Molly do a full post-mortem on them and get back to me. Come on, John." And with that Sherlock was off, hailing a cab, John following behind him.

The cab ride home had been silent. Sherlock had his thinking face on so John hadn't wanted to disturb him.

Once they were in the flat though, John couldn't hold himself back any longer.

"So, what did the note say?" John asked, hating the suspense.

Sherlock smirked as he sat languidly into his chair.

"Impatient, are we?" He teased, but pulled the paper out of the bag. John walked over to Sherlock, crowding into his side to see the small piece of paper.

Sherlock unfolded it slowly, his knuckles brushing against Johns chest lightly. All at once, the touch was like an electric shock to John and he had to hold back a shiver. What was wrong with him? He glanced to Sherlock out of the corner of his eye to see if he had noticed, but Sherlock seemed unaffected.

Damn! Of all the times for his body to be reacting like a complete nutter, it had to choose a moment when he was practically pressed against the most observant man in the world. If he didn't get a hold of himself, Sherlock was going to read him and then he was going to find out that…..that, well he wasn't sure what, but it wasn't good.

John stepped back feeling the cold air hit his chest where Sherlock's warm hand had been.

Focus, John, focus! He mentally scolded himself as he began to read the note aloud.

" _I do hope you enjoyed my poem._

 _I meant every word._

 _I will_ _save you like I saved you once before._

 _T.D."_

John stared at the paper for a long moment, but could not make sense of it.

"What does that even mean?" He asked, looking at his friend. Sherlock was staring down at the letter, eyes slightly narrowed.

"I haven't the slightest." He answered after a moment.

"And who the hell is T.D.?" John urged.

"I don't know, John." Came the reply immediately.

"He said he saved you once before. You have no clue?" John continues.

"No." Sherlock answered, this time sounded quite annoyed by not knowing.

"John, I need to think for a while. Do tell me if Lestrade phones."

"Yeah alright, Sherlock." John answered as he watched Sherlock take his usual spot on the sofa, before heading into the kitchen. If they were going to be stationary for a while, he might as well have some tea.

Hours later, John emerged from his room having finished quite a bit of his book, when the rumble in his stomach could not be ignored any longer.

John made his way into the living room. Sherlock was still right where he left him three hours ago, laying on the sofa, his hands folded in a mockery of prayer, his eyes closed tightly, brow furrowed where he was thinking somewhere deep within his mind palace.

John stood looking for a moment. Sherlock was indeed very much a man, even with his fair skin and slender form he still looked decidedly masculine.

John was not interested in men. Never had been. He loved big breasts and the tight, wet heat of a woman.

So why then had his breathing picked up when he let his eyes trail over Sherlock's body? Why was his dick betraying him once again?

Hadn't he decided that that one time was just because he hadn't shagged in a while?

So then why, when he had just spent the night with a beautiful woman, was he still having this reaction?

Why? He asked his traitorous dick as he glared down at it scornfully.

"John." the deep rumbling voice called out, starling him and he shot his head up.

Sherlock was still laying down, but his eyes were focused on John now, his hands had made there way into his lap.

"Yeah?" John answered stupidly.

"You were the one staring at me for a good ten minutes. You tell me." Sherlock replied before lifting his arms out above his head for a long.

John stared, his eyes fixed on the exposed flesh of Sherlock's surprisingly toned abdomen. It was another moment before he realized Sherlock was saying something again.

Berating himself for loosing control of his impulses once again, he looked up to see Sherlock staring at him curiously.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" John asked, unable to look away from his friends piercing stare.

Sherlock regarded him a moment longer before he sat up and began again.

"I asked if Lestrade had phoned. Really John. You know how tedious I find repetition." Sherlock complained.

John took a breath and cursed his stupid brain before answering.

"Ah, no. He hasn't called yet." Sherlock was still pinning him with a strange look and John could fell his pulse accelerate.

What if he knew? What if he could tell that John had been looking?

No. He didn't know. If he did, he would have to say something.

Pulling himself together, John decided to go with what he had come out of his room for in the first place.

"Um, I think I'll head out to get something to eat. Text me if Lestrade calls while I'm out." John said, still feeling a little out of sorts.

John pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys to leave when Sherlock spoke again.

"Do you not want my company?" Sherlock asked, sounding slightly insecure.

John turned back around to his friend a little shocked.

"No." John answered and then realized it sounded like he was saying that he didn't want Sherlock's company and quickly added "I mean yes. I 'd like your company. It's just that you never eat when your working a case." He finished looking to Sherlock who was now standing with a small smile.

"I'll accompany you then." He answered before gracefully slipping into his coat.

/

It was just John's luck that not five minutes after he had received his food, Sherlock got the call they had been waiting on.

John had started shoveling his food into his mouth as quick as possible, getting choked up once in the process, much to Sherlock's amusement it seemed by the muffled laughter as he finished up his call.

John was about to get a last bite in when a glass of water was shoved into his face.

"Drink something John." Sherlock said, amused. "You're no good to me dead." John scowled at him as he drank the offered beverage.

"I wouldn't have choked if I didn't know already that you were going to shoot out of the restaurant." John complained. Sherlock just smiled.

"Eat your food. We have time." Sherlock answered.

John, surprised, listened immediately.

"So, what did Lestrade say then?" He asked between bites.

Sherlock picked up a napkin, handing it to John who huffed.

"I'm not a child Sherlock." He griped, ignoring the napkin purposefully.

Sherlock gave a sigh before answering.

"He's sending me both victims information. It appears they share nothing in common. We'll head to Bart's after this. I want to check the first victims belongings for this poem the killer speaks about."

"Right." John agreed, finishing up his plate.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Walking into the morgue, John and Sherlock were met by Molly, who held the bag of victim one's belongings. Sherlock must have texted her about them before hand.

"That's all that he had on him. The police haven't cataloged it yet, so I'll be needing it back." She said shyly.

Sherlock practically pounced on the bag, turning away to look through the contents.

"Thanks, Molly." John answered for his ungrateful flat-mate.

"No problem." She said giving John a timid smile, as she combed her hair behind her ear.

Sherlock turned back abruptly holding out a small piece of paper.

"John, take a picture of this with your phone." He said as he passed the paper over before turning his gaze on Molly.

"Molly, what letter was carved into the first victim?" He urged.

"Um, the letter M." She answered quickly.

"M and A." Sherlock said, thinking aloud. "Come John. We need to get back to the flat. I need to think." He said as he walked towards the exit.

John handed Molly the letter with a smile.

"Coming." John mumbled as he tried to catch up with the detective.

Sherlock hailed a cab once they were outside, and they piled in.

John took back out his phone. He hadn't been able to read the message before, but now he could. Opening up his photos he scrolled through until he found the note and read.

" _He sticks to you like a parasite, leeching into your soul_

 _His spider web has you ensnared, He'll never let you go._

 _But I'll rescue you from this wind and rain_

 _How he batters you with hurt and pain_

 _His filthy hands will touch you no more_

 _He will not have you, I will make sure._

 _T.D."_

"What the bloody hell does that even mean?" John asked aloud.

"Quiet." Sherlock complained. "I need all of my mind focused right now, John."

"Right." John replied. Who on earth was this man, and how was he connected to Sherlock? John felt a cold chill as he looked back at the note. This man was dangerous.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX:**

Sherlock had been riffling through his mind palace for hours and he still had no idea who T.D. was.

Maybe he needed to focus on what he did know for a little while.

The victims names were Edward Sharpe and Samuel Stokes. They were both beaten and stabbed to death. Both had their genitalia removed. Both had a letter carved into their abdomens. An 'm' and an 'A'. Neither of them had anything in common with each other, beside their physicality. Both were on the shorter side, height wise. Both in their late thirties. Same build, same dark blonde hair, same color eyes.

The killer knew Sherlock personally. He said that he had saved him before, that he would save him again.

Ugh! It was useless without more to go on.

Opening his eyes, he noticed it had already gotten dark out. The only light in the room was the lamp by John's chair, where the man in question sat sleeping, a book loosely grasped in his hand.

Sherlock sat up, stretching.

He thought briefly about waking John, but then decide not to.

He knew that John was having nightmares again, so any peaceful sleep he managed to get was for the best, even if he would be sore tomorrow.

Standing up languidly, Sherlock reached over the back of the sofa for the small throw blanket and made his way over to his snoring friend.

Sherlock threw the blanket over him and turned out the light on the lamp.

He thought for a moment about texting Lestrade to see if anything new had came up, but thought against it as he noticed the time.

Just after three am.

He would go and have a bath, then.

/

Moriarty stood motionless as John grabbed him from behind.

"Run Sherlock!" He screamed, desperate.

Moriarty smiled manically.

"Oh, Sherlock's not going anywhere." He said in a sing song voice.

John watched in horror as red laser sights focused on Sherlock's forehead and his chest.

"Looks like your in a tough spot, John." Moriarty taunted. "Kill me and my men kill dear old Sherlock or let me go and you can both die together."

John's hands twitched on their hold of the maniac. What could he do here?

"John." He heard Sherlock's voice, more quiet than usual.

He looked into his friends eyes, seeing his answer before hearing it.

"It's fine John. Don't let go." Sherlock ordered, sounding confident, despite the fear John could see plainly in his eyes.

"Oh, pretending to be a martyr, Sherlock? We both know you're just like me." Moriarty said, taunting.

"Let me put it this way then." Moriarty spoke turning his head slightly towards John. "You let me go, or you can watch Sherlock die very slowly."

"Don't listen to him, John." Sherlock pleaded. "He's going to kill us both anyway. This way, he goes too."

John squeezed his eyes shut, and gripped Moriarty tighter as Sherlock lifted his hand, John's gun aiming for the vest.

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock said, his eye's pleading with John for forgiveness.

John nodded, shut his eyes, and heard the click as he pulled the trigger.

John woke suddenly, his breathing heavy, sweat drenching his shirt.

God. How many times was he going to have that dream?

John blinked his eyes, focusing in the darkness of the room. He was sitting up, the throw blanket draped over him haphazardly.

He had fallen asleep in his chair.

Damn. He was going to be sore.

He slowly leaned forward, feeling the ache and pulled the blanket off of himself.

Sherlock had wrapped him up.

John felt a rush of affection as he thought about it.

Sherlock never went out of his way to do anything that didn't benefit him in some way, so the fact that Sherlock had thoughtlessly put a blanket on him as he slept made John feel quite special in the detective's life.

Standing slowly, John could feel his muscles protest.

Maybe he ought to take a hot bath.

Going to his room, he collected another t-shirt, pants, and some comfortable sweats and made his way to the hall closet for a towel.

Grasping all of his things, he made his way to the bathroom and opened the door quietly so he wouldn't wake Sherlock who was most likely sleeping next door.

He needn't have bothered, however, because right in front of him was a very awake, very naked Sherlock staring at him from the bath tub.

"John-"

"Bloody hell, I am so sorry!" John shrieked, embarrassed beyond belief. He turned, scurrying out of the bathroom and closed the door roughly, his clothes forgotten on the floor inside where he had dropped them in his shock.

He stood with his back to the door for a moment trying to get himself under control.

Why was he freaking out so much?

So he accidentally walked in on Sherlock in the bath. He hadn't seen anything.

Well, not much anyway.

And Sherlock had barged into his room just a few weeks ago when he had been changing for bed.

Besides, it was partly Sherlock's fault for not locking the door. And they were both men, therefore no-one's modesty to worry about.

So why on earth was he blushing like a school girl, feeling as though he was the biggest pervert on the planet?

It made absolutely no bloody sense.

A sound from the bathroom made John stiffen. It sounded like Sherlock had drained the tub. After a moment he heard the sounds of a towel rustling.

John's heart hammered in his chest as his mind conjured up the image of Sherlock dragging the towel over the expanse of his pale, dampened skin.

 _Holy hell._

 _What in God's name was happening to him?_

Pushing himself off the door he made a bee line towards his room, dropping onto his bed with shaky legs.

This couldn't be happening to him.

Didn't people usually tend to have sexual crisis's a little bit earlier in life than this? People didn't just wake up one morning and find that there sexual preferences have changed suddenly.

No. Whatever this was, it wasn't that.

He liked women. He was attracted to women.

 _He wasn't gay, damn't!_

Looking down at his once again traitorous dick, he willed it to understand this fact.

It apparently didn't give a fuck what John thought about this, standing stiff, aching to be touched.

John let out a ragged breath and tried to will his erection away.

No way would he be getting off right now. Not when his mind was still fighting to re-capture the image of Sherlock laying naked in the tub, cheeks red from the heat, tiny droplets of water running down from his hair over his throat.

 _Damn! He was doing it again!_

He let out a small frustrated moan. He wouldn't be sleeping anymore tonight if he didn't take care of this, but he just couldn't touch himself.

He couldn't bring himself off thinking of another man.

And Sherlock was in deed a man. And his flat mate. His best friend. One in a very small group of people he cared about, would die for.

And he wouldn't dirty that up with a quick hand job in the middle of the night because he had no control over his impulses.

A light rasping on the door had John looking up, covering his mid section with a blanket as if Sherlock could see through the door.

"Yeah?" He called, voice slightly tensed.

"The bathroom is free now." Sherlock's muffled voice said from behind the door.

John squeezed his eyes shut, willing this whole situation to go away.

He needed to answer so Sherlock would go away, and he could try to go to sleep.

"Yes. Alright." John croaked, berating himself for sounding so distressed even to his own ears.

He could hear Sherlock fidgeting outside of his door for a moment before he finally spoke again.

"Good night, John." He said smoothly.

"Good night." John replied. This time his voice sounded a little better.

John listened as Sherlock turned and walked back down the stairs, then flopped his head back down to his pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

/

Around seven in the morning John gave up on pretending he was asleep.

It had taken an hour to will his erection away after Sherlock had left his doorway last night, and he had been right in thinking that there would be no more sleeping for him.

He slowly made his way over to his chair, a little relieved that Sherlock was still in his room.

He still felt quite silly over how he had acted, and he didn't want any reminder's of it for at least a few more hours.

But as always, John's luck never did pan out, and he heard Sherlock walk out into the living room after closing his door with a soft click.

He willed himself not to tense as his friend entered and sat down in his chair opposite of him.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock said lazily.

John made the mistake of looking at his friend as he tilted his head back onto the chair, exposing his throat as he closed his eyes against the brightness coming in from the window.

Quickly averting his gaze, John grabbed for the newspaper and answered.

"Morning." He said, trying to sound casual.

A few moments passed. John pretending to read the paper, Sherlock lounging in his chair silently before the silence was broken.

"John?" Sherlock called.

John turned the page.

"Yeah?" He asked, without looking up.

"Why are you reading yesterday's paper again?" Sherlock asked, curious.

John cursed himself. He should have just grabbed his book.

"I was just reading over a few articles." John replied.

"You impress me, John. I was unaware that you could read up side down." Sherlock commented, now leaning forward, studying John.

John tensed, looking down, now noticing that the paper was in fact facing the wrong way.

Why couldn't he just evaporate into the floor boards?

"Just trying it out." He answered and his voice sounded wrong even to him. Looking up, he saw that Sherlock had noticed as well.

"John-" Sherlock called, his eyes focused intently on him.

John had to look away, scared that Sherlock would see everything if he didn't.

"Yoo-hoo!"

John jumped at the greeting, but was absolutely thankful for it.

He turned in his chair with a smile.

"Morning, Mrs. Hudson." he called.

"Good morning, John. Sherlock." She greeted, sitting down a tray of cakes and tea. "Just thought I'd pop in and give you some of the cakes I made yesterday. I've made tea as well. Just this once, mind you." She said smiling.

"Smells wonderful." John praised reaching for one of the cakes.

Apparently God just had it out for him, because Sherlock went for the same one.

Panic over took John as their fingers touched and he jerked his hand back, causing the cake to fall to the floor.

"S-Sorry." John said, picking the cake up from the floor and walking it to the garbage bin.

"Everything all right, dear? Have you two had another domestic?" Mrs. Hudson asked, concerned.

John laughed awkwardly as he sat, making himself busy pouring the tea.

"Here." He said, offering Mrs. Hudson a cup.

"Oh thank you, dear."

John slid Sherlock's cup to the edge of the tray.

"There." He said, before grabbing his own tea and taking a sip.

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, and against his better judgment, John looked up to find Sherlock's eyes zeroed in on him.

"Pass me the sugar, wont you John?" He asked immediately, eyes calculating.

John lifted the bowl and held it out. Sherlock grasped it, letting his fingers touch John's just slightly.

This time John was ready for it and his hand only shook a little before he retracted it.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John looked away.

"What is the matter, John?" Sherlock asked calmly.

John placed his tea onto the tray and looked up with a fake smile.

"Nothing at all." He answered, trying to make eye contact and failing miserably.

"You wont look at me. You jump when I touch you. Something's wrong." Sherlock accused.

"So it was a domestic after all." Mrs. Hudson commented, as she looked between the two of them sympathetically.

Sherlock ignored her, continuing.

"Is this about the bath?" He asked, confused.

"Oh my." Mrs. Hudson said with a flush on her cheeks, once again being ignored.

John's eyes shot up to Sherlock's on their own.

 _Oh God._

"It most certainly does _not_ have anything to do with the bath because there is _nothing_ the matter." John answered stiffly.

"You know my husband and I had our fair share of rows with each other. Just talk it out, and you'll be fine, dears."

John's eyes snapped to their landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson! We are not boyfriends, for the last time!" John growled. He knew he was mis-placing his anger but he couldn't think straight in his panic.

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson looked at him slightly shocked, before she stood.

"I'll just get out of your way then. I'll come back for my tray later." She said by the door before leaving.

"Now you've gone and upset Mrs. Hudson, John." Sherlock commented. "If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll find out eventually. You know I will." He said seriously.

John stood up from his chair and turned away from his friend.

"Can't you just let me have one thing?" John pleaded. "Just one that you don't have to pry into, Sherlock?" And with that he walked to the door, grabbing his jacket and left the flat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven:**

John was just downing his fourth beer when he got a text.

Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket a little sluggishly, he glanced at the screen, focusing.

' _Lestrade called._

 _Another body was found._

 _Meet me at the station._

 _SH'_

John studied the message again, letting it sink in, his brain a little foggy. He hadn't started with beer after all.

So, Sherlock was waiting for him at the police station. Probably another body had been found.

And John really wanted to pretend like he hadn't read that text.

He wasn't ready to see Sherlock yet.

And he sure as hell wasn't ready for Sherlock to deduce away the one secret he had to keep to himself.

He had come to the realization sometime after his fifth shot that he was probably in love with Sherlock.

He'd forced himself to think seriously about everything that had happened in the last week, and for that, he had needed some liquid courage.

He knew that his friendship with Sherlock had always been intense. The fact that he had killed a man for Sherlock after only knowing him for a day, was testament enough to that fact.

And it was more than the promise of danger or the fact that when he was with Sherlock he felt alive.

And if he was being really honest with himself, he had been aware that his feelings for the detective had grown beyond the 'standard friendship level' long ago.

In fact, with the alcohol dulling his anxiety over this whole mess, it was pretty easy to pinpoint when his feelings had changed from ' _just friends_ ' to ' _I'd die for you if you'd let me_ '.

It was complete bullocks that _Moriarty_ got to be the one to open his eyes, but such was his life.

And really, he should have realized sooner.

If he hadn't been in such denial over his own sexuality he maybe would have seen it coming, instead of being blind sided.

John still didn't think he was gay, though. In fact, he was quite sure he wasn't.

And yes he understood how ridiculous that sounded when he had just basically realized that he was in love with a man, but with Sherlock it wasn't about whether he had a dick or not.

 _Everything_ was always so complicated when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

All he did know for certain was that he loved Sherlock more than he had thought he was capable. And not just the good things either.

He loved everything about him. The way he would pout on the sofa until John would give in to whatever he had denied him to start with.

Or the way Sherlock would rather drink out of a beaker than wash a cup. How he never cleaned anything for that matter and always expected John to just follow him around without a care as to if John had already made plans.

But it wasn't all bad either. Sherlock was one of the kindest people he knew, even if the detective denied it profusely.

He had a never ending desire to learn even though he was the smartest person John had ever seen.

He was funny and charming when he wanted to be and John had so much fun when he was with him.

There was never a dull moment with Sherlock.

John had been so depressed. So lonely before he met Sherlock.

Sherlock, John later realized, had actually been quite lonely as well, though he would never admit it to anyone.

The fact that Sherlock had looked at _him_ , a plain, unimpressive ex-military doctor with a bum leg and _chose him_ to be a part of his life, to be his friend, made John feel things he had never felt before.

His heart felt as if it could burst with all of the feelings he carried inside for Sherlock, and that was just it.

His heart didn't give a damn what gender Sherlock was.

John just simply loved.

With all his heart. And that was the tragedy right there, because all this love had no where to go.

Because Sherlock didn't feel things that way.

And John wouldn't try and force it on him by telling him.

Because deep down John knew that if Sherlock found out, there was a chance he would give in to John just to keep him by his side and John didn't want that.

He wouldn't betray the trust Sherlock had placed in him when he told him that he was the only friend he had ever had. The only person he had ever grown to care for.

That's why he needed just a little more time.

Just to rearrange himself so that they could be friends again. So that every time he looked at Sherlock it wouldn't hurt.

His phone chimed again and he blinked, looking at the message.

' _I'm sorry._

 _I won't pry._

 _Come to the station._

 _SH'_

John knew before he texted back that he would go to Sherlock. His own problems be damned.

' _On my way.'_ He texted, downing the rest of his drink before heading out the door.

/

Sherlock was waiting for John outside, when he got out of the cab.

A look of relief flashed over Sherlock's features, before he pushed it down and walked over to where John stood on the side walk.

"You're here. Finally. Lestrade has been-" Sherlock paused taking John's appearance in fully, his nose wrinkling slightly. "Are you intoxicated, John?"

John tried to stand a little straighter but failed, almost falling over instead. He looked up at Sherlock apologetically.

"Sorry. I'm-I'm alright though."

Sherlock just frowned for a moment looking as if he wanted to say something else about it, but he didn't. Instead he turned, hailing a new cab.

Once they were seated Sherlock began going over the details Lestrade had given him.

"The victim's name is Johnathan Thompson. He is of the same build and age group as the others. Same hair color and eyes. The letter 'U' was found carved into this victim and-" Sherlock paused, noticing John had turned away, placing his forehead against the cab window. "John, are you quite sure you're alright? Maybe you should head back to the flat." Sherlock said concerned.

John turned towards his friend and really looked.

He looked the same as he always had, since the day John had met him. Yet at this moment, John had never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life.

 _God. He was so screwed._

Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to calm the flipping in his stomach.

"John-" Sherlock started and John squeezed his eyes tighter. "I won't pry. I gave my word. But if there is something bothering you, something that I've done-"

John's eyes shot open.

"You've done nothing. It's-it's me." He answered before thinking. Alcohol always did loosen his tongue.

Well now he'd gone and admitted there was something wrong. Damn.

Looking to Sherlock once again, he saw the doubt in his eyes and knew he had to say just a little more. He wouldn't have Sherlock thinking that any of this was his fault.

"Look, there is something bothering me, but you did nothing wrong. It's just something personal I'm working through." John explained, feeling more sober than he should all of a sudden.

Sherlock studied him with concern for a moment.

"Can I help in any way?" He asked finally.

John smiled sadly.

"Just, be my friend Sherlock. Find us interesting cases. Taunt Mycroft over his failed diet. Just be you." John said and he meant every word.

Sherlock gave another concerned look, before pushing it aside.

"I will always be your friend, John." He answered solemnly, then gave a small smirk. "And Mycroft will always hoard cakes in his desk drawer."

John laughed. It was just a small laugh, but Sherlock counted it as a win.

The cab stopped and Sherlock exited the cab, John stumbling out behind him, as Lestrade caught sight of them and motioned them over.

"So, this one is just the same as the others, as I said on the phone. I checked all the pockets like you asked, but there was nothing." Lestrade answered. "Why was that important?" He asked.

Sherlock removed the small bag from his coat pocket and placed it in Lestrade's hand.

"This note was found on the second victim. Molly has another that was found on the first."

Lestrade's eyes went wide as he read the message.

"Sherlock, you can't withhold evidence! It could jeopardize the investigation! I could have you taken off this case!" He griped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"They were addressed to me. Besides, you have no investigation without me."

Lestrade gave a defeated sigh, before looking to Sherlock again.

"Well, what does the first message say?"

Sherlock turned towards John who stood leaning against a brick wall for support a few feet away.

"John, I need you to show Inspector Lestrade the picture of the poem on your phone."

John pushed himself off the wall, making his way over to them, swaying slightly.

"Is he drunk?" Lestrade asked looking at Sherlock, before turning to John, "Are you drunk?"

John stopped trying to pull his phone from his jacket pocket, and gave an apologetic glance towards both men.

"Sorry. I've only had a little to drink. I'm quite alright." John said, trying not to slur his words.

By the looks on both Lestrade's and Sherlock's faces, he was pretty sure he failed.

Lestrade held his head in his hand, before looking up, annoyed.

"Fine. Just show me the picture."

John scrolled through his phone and handed it to Lestrade who read over it a couple times before looking to Sherlock.

"Who the hell is this guy?"Lestrade asked. "He knows you, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave what could only be described as a pout.

"I don't know."

Lestrade huffed. They were at an all time low if even Sherlock was stumped.

"Hey, I've got that same jumper." John commented out of the blue causing the other two men turn.

John was peering down at the body, looking thoughtfully at the pale yellow jumper, now riddled with holes and stained with blood as it clung to the victim's mutilated torso.

"Though mine is a different color. Something like a navy blue or maybe an oxford blue." John said conversationally as he looked up to find both men staring at him. Sherlock looked a little shocked.

Suddenly he realized that he was talking wardrobe while a dead body lay not even a foot away from him and he looked up sheepishly.

"Sorry. My brains not firing on all it's cylinders at the moment." John said just before Sherlock walked swiftly to him and grasped both his shoulders, an enormous smile on his face.

"You're brilliant John! Absolutely brilliant!" Sherlock praised and even though John had no idea what he was talking about, he couldn't help feeling absolutely delighted at hearing Sherlock's proclamation. He just hoped he wasn't blushing.

Sherlock squeezed both his shoulders excitedly before releasing his hold, spinning around towards the body, crouching.

"Yes! Why did I not see it before?" Sherlock asked to himself.

"You want to share with the rest of us, Sherlock?" Lestrade called out.

"It's John." Sherlock commented as he stood, still looking at the body. "The victim's. They are substitutes. All three have been in John's age range. They have similar build and height. The same hair and eye color." He explained, allowing John and the D.I. to catch up.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade said looking to John then back to Sherlock. "You're right. I didn't even notice it before, but with these notes it makes since."

"Why would the killer be targeting me?" John asked. "Do you think I know him?"

"No." Sherlock answered. "From the notes he left, we can assume that the killer, for whatever reason, has a fixation on me. He has deluded himself into believing that we are bound together somehow. He now believes that John has harmed me in some way. These deaths are a message. He plans to rescue me by killing John. But he's leaving me clues carved into the bodies of the victims. He wants me to figure out who he is and come to him." Sherlock finishes.

'So the killer is male, then?" Lestrade asks.

"In all likely hood, yes." Sherlock answers before looking over at John who seems to have dozed off sitting against the brick wall.

"Keep me posted. I'm going to see that John gets some rest." Sherlock said, making his way over to him.

"John." Sherlock called seeing john stir, and slowly open his eyes.

"Sherlock?" He asked looking up at Sherlock.

"Come on. Let's get you back to the flat to sleep the rest of your inebriation off." Sherlock said, holding out his hand.

John stared at it for a moment before reaching out and placing his own hand into Sherlock's larger one, wishing for just a moment that their was no glove between them.

"Yeah, alright." John answered and if his voice was a little off Sherlock didn't seem to notice.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

John sat at his desk, a pile of patient files sitting in front of him. He still had eight patients with appointments and another six that had been walk-in's.

He had worked twelve hours yesterday, and today it looked like it would be much the same.

He was sore and tired and wanted nothing more than to be back home, have a nice hot bath and then sleep for a week.

Honestly though, even if he were back at the flat, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping.

He hadn't been able to get more than seven hours total sleep since his drunken revelation three nights ago.

Sherlock wasn't the problem, himself.

He had kept his word. He hadn't asked John anything, even though John could tell that it was just about killing him to do so.

The problem was that once John had thought it, had accepted his feelings as reality, he couldn't shut them off.

And if thinking about Sherlock constantly in his waking hours wasn't enough to drive him mad, every time he fell asleep he would dream about him.

The dreams had started out normal enough.

Innocent.

But that had all changed rather quickly after the second night when before bed he had been innocently walking through the hall when he caught a glimpse of Sherlock, fresh out of the shower, nothing on but a small white towel wrapped around narrow hips and who the hell doesn't close their door when they are naked anyway?

It's a matter of common courtesy, really.

So it really wasn't his fault that his dreams that night had changed course, causing him to wake up gasping, feeling like a twelve year old boy again.

After that embarrassing ordeal, John had been afraid to sleep.

His bedroom was directly above Sherlock's.

He couldn't take the chance that he wouldn't make some humiliating noise or call out Sherlock's name in his sleep.

Besides the fact that John would be found out, Sherlock honestly didn't need the ego boost.

The great Sherlock Holmes.

The only man in the universe that could turn John Watson gay.

Yeah, Sherlock definitely couldn't find out.

And anyways, John still held firm that he wasn't gay in the normal sense. He felt no attraction towards men.

He was, by definition straight….who just happened to have an intense romantic/sexual interest in Sherlock, who just so happened to be a man.

 _God._

His life was so messed up, John thought with a long sigh.

John lifted his cell phone from the desk, checking to see if he had maybe missed a text from Sherlock.

Three more bodies had been found in the last three days, but Sherlock had told John that he was quite capable of gathering evidence on his own and that John should go into work so he had, but John had to admit that he had felt disappointed.

He loved what they did.

Solving crimes. Saving innocent people.

Chasing bad guys through darkened alley ways.

Honestly, he had only took on this job to pay the bills, but payed cases came in so frequently now, he really didn't need it anymore.

Setting his phone down, he sighed in resignation.

"Debby, send in my next patient." John called, hearing Debby let Mrs. Sutton know that her boys could be seen now.

 _Damn._ The twins, _again._

 _John really hated his life right now._

 _/_

John had gotten off of work an hour later than he had thought.

He tiredly drudged up the stairs, thinking of hot tea, steaming showers, and his warm comfy bed.

When the door opened suddenly, John startled and had to catch himself from falling backwards.

Sherlock had wrenched the door open and he was looking at John excitedly.

"Can I at least come inside before you tell me what's got you acting like it's christmas morning?" John asked tiredly.

"No time." Sherlock answered, closing the door and passing John on his way down the stairs.

"You coming?" Sherlock asked, turning towards his friend, his maniacal smile still firmly in place.

John sighed in resignation.

"Yeah."

/

Apparently there had been another two bodies found.

Time of death placed them roughly six hours apart. The last victim had another note and they had made their way to the morgue where Molly was still running a few tests.

"Here's the note." Molly said, looking up shyly at Sherlock as she handed the small piece of paper over.

Sherlock took the note in hand inspecting it before unfolding it.

"I assume you checked it for prints?" He asked mechanically.

"Oh. Yes. Of course. There were no prints or any other fibers on the paper or the bodies." Molly squeaked.

"And what letter's were carved into these bodies?" Sherlock asked, looking up from the note.

"Oh, um the first was an 'N' and the second was an 'E'." She answered after looking down at her file.

"Get me the files on all of the bodies." Sherlock ordered, turning towards a bare table in the room.

"So, what did the note say?" John asked walking over to stand next to Sherlock.

"That he's coming for you next." Sherlock answered gravely, passing over the piece of paper to John.

John unfolded it immediately, reading.

'There isn't very much time left,

before I send his soul to rest.

Soon I'll have you for my own,

when his retched soul is gone.'

"So, what do we do now? Do you have any idea who this is yet?" John asks, placing the note onto the table just as Molly walks back through the door.

"We think." Sherlock answers, taking the files that Molly had brought. "Ah, thank you, Molly."

Sherlock opens each file, pulling a picture from each.

He places them in a line on the table.

"We have his message. He want's me to find him." Sherlock says as they both stare at the photos of the mutilated corpses.

"It spells 'MAURINE'. What is that? A name? Do you recognize it?" John asks, looking up to his friend confused.

"It is not a name I am familiar with." Sherlock answers shaking his head. "The name Maurine is feminine in nature. It is highly unlikely that it would belong to a man. If it is a name, I may have been wrong in assuming that the killer is male."

"We should get Greg on the phone. Have him do a search on the name." John supplies.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, pulling out his phone to text Lestrade. "In the mean time, I need to get back to the flat to think."

/

It had been two days since John had been placed in 'house arrest'.

Lestrade had been adamant about him staying put. He had even put two officers on watch at all times.

Sherlock had sifted through all but one of the women with a first or middle name of Maurine from the files that had been sent via Scotland Yard.

There had only been seven.

Two were deceased, one was only four years old, and three were over the age of 70.

That left one more.

Maurine Willis.

White female, thirty years old, unmarried, and living in a flat about five blocks from Baker Street.

She had no prior record, but John was still concerned that Sherlock planned to go to her flat alone.

"Sherlock, we need to be reasonable about this." John tried again as Sherlock stood in the doorway putting on his coat. "This woman could be extremely dangerous. You can't go alone."

Sherlock gave an irritated sigh.

"John, I am quite capable of fending off one woman all by my self." He answered grabbing his scarf and wrapping it around his neck.

"Yes, well this woman happens to be obsessed with you. God knows what she'll do when she finally see's you face to face." John say's, tension rising.

"We don't even know yet if this woman is the killer." Sherlock says giving John an exasperated look.

"I should be coming along." John complained. "You don't even have a weapon."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that.

"Really John, we're wasting time." Sherlock huffed.

John gave him one last stubborn look. Sherlock heaved a put upon sigh.

"Very well." He said walking towards John, one step then two, then another until there was only a couple of inches between them.

"What are you-" John said, cutting himself off as Sherlock lifted one hand to place on John's hip. The hand curled around to his lower back and John had to fight to keep control of his breathing.

Sherlock tilted his head forward slightly and John didn't have to fight long, because now he absolutely couldn't breath.

John squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Sherlock slip his hand under his jumper and shirt.

God.

Was Sherlock going to kiss him?

Had he somehow found out how he felt? Did Sherlock feel the same?

All at once the heat from Sherlock's body was gone, and John startled, opening his eyes.

Sherlock stood in fornt of him, John's gun in his hand.

The gun he placed in the waist band of his trousers.

John felt his heart sink.

Sherlock had only touched him to get the gun.

"There. Now your fears should be put at ease." Sherlock said as he tucked the gun away and headed towards the door.

John had to force himself to smile, though he had a feeling it looked just as fake to Sherlock as it felt giving it.

"Just be careful." He warned.

"Always." Sherlock said as he turned with a flourish out the door.

/

It had been three hours and Sherlock had still not returned.

John had texted him every half hour just checking in, and Sherlock had responded until an hour ago.

John paced the room, stopping at the window.

The officers were still stationed outside.

He needed to check up on Sherlock.

Climbing the stairs to his bedroom two at a time, John made quick work of grabbing his knife, a pair of handcuffs, and a flashlight.

Going back to the window, he waved his arms around gaining the officers attention.

Less than a minute later they came to the door.

"There a problem, Dr. Watson?" One of the officers asked.

John put on his best fearful face on.

"Yeah. I heard something. It came from the bedroom upstairs. Could you guys take a look?"

"Sure, Dr. Watson. You stay right here. We'll take a look." The officer said, motioning for is partner to follow.

"Thanks so much." John said relieved.

As soon as both men disappeared into the bedroom, John made a run for it.

He ran, weaving through alleys and back streets until he was sure he was safe from being detected.

Pulling out his phone he punched in the address to where Sherlock had gone.

It wasn't very far. He could get a taxi and make it there in minutes.

Just as he was walking towards the main street, his phone rang.

Relief filled him briefly before looking down.

It was Greg.

John lifted the phone to answer when he felt pain shoot from the back of his head.

He tried to whip his head around to see who had obviously attacked him, but he lost his balance.

Everything was spinning as he landed on the ground.

John couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears and his vision was going in and out.

He could see his phone on the ground about a foot away, but he couldn't grab it.

A pair of boots slowly creeped into his vision before it started swirling again.

"I thought I'd never get you alone, Doctor Watson." A low humming voice said from somewhere close.

The white hot pain of the boot crunching into his face is the last thing John felt before everything turn black.


	9. Chapter 9

John awoke, his vision swimming as he opened his eyes.

The back of his head throbbed achingly, but the real pain was centered along his brow.

A kick, his addled brain supplies.

Right. He had been heading towards Sherlock when someone had attacked him.

Fuck!

Taking a deep breath, John cataloged his body for injuries.

His arms and wrists ached, but he was mostly sure that was from being tied up. Besides the blow to his head and the kick he had received, it didn't feel as if he had suffered any other damage.

John briefly struggled with the binds around his wrists.

No good. They weren't coming off any time soon.

John took a moment to take in his surroundings.

It looked like a he was on an old roof. There was a large gaping hole to his right and John could make out what looked to be an examination table, rusted and weather worn among scattered debris.

The sound of footsteps crunching had John whipping his head around, but that had been a mistake and he had to fight to keep the contents of his stomach from coming up as a strong wave of nausea over took him.

"You're awake then." A deep voice said from near by.

John blinked rapidly, trying to steady his rolling vision.

Slowly he was able to make out his kidnappers form.

He was average height and build. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes.

There was nothing remarkable about him. He looked like any average adult male.

The man made his way over to where John was sitting and crouched in front of him.

Up close John could see hate brimming in his kidnapper's eyes.

"I have to say, I was expecting more of a fight from you Dr. Watson." The man sneered. "You are retired military after all, though not any good apparently."

"Why don't you un-tie me and I'll show you how good I am?" John said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I don't need to see you in action to know you're lacking." The man said mockingly. "No. You'll stay right here until he gets here. Then I'll let him watch me punish you and after I am satisfied you've suffered enough, I'll kill you. Or better yet, maybe we'll do it together."

"By 'we' I assume you're referring to Sherlock?" John scoffed. "Well I have some news for you. When he does get here, it will be to rescue me and send your sorry arse to prison."

"Wrong!" The man shouted as he gripped John's chin violently. "You are nothing to him! I was the one who put him back together again! I was the one to save him!"

John struggled in the mans grip causing him to tighten his hold.

John yelped in pain.

"Why does he keep you?" The man asked, repulsion evident in his voice. "Can't he see how worthless you are? So worthless and yet you dirty him with your filth."

The man released John's face roughly, standing.

"I was content to let him keep you around, but just being near him wasn't enough for you was it?" The man asked, trembling slightly in anger. "You tricked him into your bed! You took what wasn't yours! What isn't anyone's!" The man roared.

"Don't you see? He's to perfect for us to touch." He said, his demeanor changing, looking slightly un-focused and awed. A moment later and he set his piercing eyes back on John angrily. "If anyone has a right to him it's me!"

John pulled on his bindings again to no avail.

This guy was a nutter.

Maybe John could reason with him though. The man was clearly under the wrong impression here.

"I don't know why you think what you do, but Sherlock and I are not together. We've never-"

"Liar!" The man screamed, lifting his booted foot and kicking John roughly in the ribs.

Intense pain shot through him and John couldn't help the howl he let out from the blow.

"I'm-" John tried, wheezing. "I'm not. I've never-"

Pain exploded again and again as the man kicked him repeatedly.

John slumped forward coughing raggedly, and he tasted blood.

Damn. Possible internal injuries. On top of that, he was pretty sure the man had cracked a couple of his ribs.

The man himself stood with his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"Look at this! You've made me punish you before he gets here to see!" The man yells.

John knew he needed to calm the man down. He couldn't afford to many more blows.

Breathing harshly, John looks up towards the man.

"You-you're right." He breaths out. "I shouldn't have lied."

The man looks shocked for a moment before crouching back down in front of him.

"Good. You've decided to tell the truth." The man said regarding him with something a kin to sympathy.

"You fell in love with him. It's alright. Anyone would." The man said soothingly. "I don't blame you for that part. The temptation to touch…...to be touched by him." He said, his eyes getting a far away look again.

"But you shouldn't have given in to the temptation and now you have to be punished."

John flinched slightly as the mans hand came up to touch his face.

"No. Shhhh. I won't hurt you anymore just yet." He whispered, cupping John's face. "Sherlock has to see it. He'll be so pleased with me for getting rid of you. But for now, I'll let you confess your sins." The man said softly. "I can't forgive you, but maybe God will."

/

Sherlock reached the upstairs bathroom window once again.

He had already finished investigating the home of Maurine Willis nearly an hour ago. He had then made a few quick stops only to realize that he ha dropped his phone.

He had retraced his steps all the way back here.

The phone must be inside.

Climbing through carefully, Sherlock noticed the phone straight away laying on the floor behind the door.

He made quick work of it, grabbing the phone and climbing back out of the window.

Once he had successfully acquired a cab, he looked at his phone.

Three missed texts from John and six missed calls from Lestrade.

He dialed the D.I.s number quickly.

"Sherlock? Oh thank Christ! Where have you been? We've been trying to find you for a couple of hours!" Lestrade's voice yelled into the phone.

"I was doing a little reconnaissance. Now what is so important that you are proceeding to burst my ear drums through the phone?" Sherlock complained.

"Sherlock, John's gone. He went missing just over two hours ago." Lestrade said worryingly.

"What do you mean he's gone? Didn't you have officer's standing guard? Is everyone on your force incompetent?" Sherlock fumed.

"Now wait just a minute, Sherlock. My guys were there. John tricked them and took off." Lestrade gruffed out.

"We need to use the GPS in his phone to track him." Sherlock said strained.

"We already did." Lestrade answered defeated. "Found it a couple blocks away from your flat. The corner of Chiswell and Whitecross" Lestrade said pausing a moment.

"Sherlock….there was blood. Not enough to think the worst, but we believe that he was probably abducted by the killer."

Sherlock took a moment to think.

Chiswell and Whitecross.

The CCTV had surveillance in that area, if he was not mistaken.

"Have your men do a city wide search. I'll try to get the footage from any camera in the area." Sherlock said, already pulling out his phone as he walked away.

His brother answered on the second ring.

"Sherlock, how unexpected." Mycroft said in greeting.

"Mycroft, I need footage from any cameras you have between Chiswell and Whitecross from two and a half hours ago until now." Sherlock demanded quickly.

"What's all this fuss about, Sherlock? Perhaps a case you can't solve?" Mycroft said with all his fake cheerfulness intact.

"John has been abducted! I don't have time for games, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted angrily. "I have to find him!"

Mycroft let out a long sigh.

"I'll have the footage sent to you immediately. Perhaps, I could offer some assistance? I could have a team put together in moments."

"Yes. That's- yes." Sherlock answered, distracted by his thoughts.

The killer won't waste much time. If they don't find John soon, he'll-

"Sherlock, you must remain passive. Sentiment...attachments will only slow down your thought process." Mycroft said sternly.

Sherlock felt his anger rise.

"I am not being clouded by sentiment! I am on a case! So why you be a decent older brother for once and just get me the footage that I need without the commentary!" And with that he hung up.

Damn Mycroft and his meddling!

Now was not the time to tease him for having made an actual friend.

Couldn't Mycroft see there was no time?

Sherlock let out a ragged breath.

He had to get back to the flat. He needed that footage.

/

It had been a half hour and Sherlock had still not received the footage. Lestrade had nothing to report either.

When he had gotten back to the flat he had went back over all of the files twice.

He had even combed through his mind palace, but Maurine held no significance.

If it had at one time, Sherlock had deleted it.

Just as he was about to go crazy from the wait his phone rang.

"Mycroft! Have you got the footage?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"I acquired it, yes. I've got Anthea en route to give you a copy. Face recognition software identified Dr. Watson's attacker as Taylor Dennis." Mycroft answered dully.

"Taylor Dennis…." Sherlock thought aloud. The name sounded...familiar?

"It appears that he used to work in a certain rehab center with which you are familiar before a fire destroyed a good deal of the building." Mycroft supplied.

"The rehab facility….yes." Sherlock said, his memory began to stir.

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed into the phone. "I know where he has John!"

Mycroft pulled the phone away from his ear slightly before speaking.

"I'll have my men meet you. Where should I send them?" Mycroft asked.

"Maurine Avenue!" Sherlock shouted before leaping out the door.

Sherlock remembered now.

The rehab facility he had spent months getting sober in.

The overly friendly nurse, Taylor Dennis.

The night that Taylor had professed feelings of love for Sherlock.

The spark of dangerous fury he had seen in the mans eyes when he had rejected him.

He had to get to John fast.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Sherlock checked the time on his phone again.

 _God_

Eight minutes had passed since he had jumped into the first available cab, stealing it from a mother and her off spring.

He hadn't the time to fake an apology as John would normally have forced him to.

 _John…_

He estimated another two and a half minutes before he would arrive but the Dennis had kidnapped John three hours ago.

Sherlock hoped his conclusions about Taylor Dennis were accurate. If so, he would most likely hold off on harming John until Sherlock was present.

Slowly the wreckage that was once the infamous West-Wood Rehab Center came into view.

"I'll get out here." Sherlock ordered abruptly, throwing a few bills towards the driver and jumping out before the cab had fully come to a stop.

Sherlock immediately took off running.

He knew that John would be on the roof.

That's where Sherlock had been the first time Taylor Dennis had introduced himself.

Sherlock cut through the alley to the left.

 _It wouldn't do to be seen just yet._

He would try and climb to the roof from the back of the crumbling building undetected.

If everything worked in his favor, maybe he could get a shot off on Dennis before he saw him coming.

Sherlock ran through the overgrown hedges making his way to an old beat up and rusted gate.

 _It was locked._

Sherlock hadn't brought his lock-picking set with him and kicking at the worn gate would alert Dennis to his arrival.

He would have to climb over it and hope that it held strong.

Sherlock jumped, gripping the top with both hands and pulled himself over.

The gate had luckily been stronger than it looked.

Quickly Sherlock tread through the debris locating the ladder easily.

It went all the way up to the roof, though some of the steps were missing or damaged.

Sherlock made his way up carefully, slipping once when one of the steps snapped off, falling to the ground.

It hadn't made much noise but Sherlock stilled in his movement for a moment listening just in case.

After forty-five seconds, Sherlock started moving again, making the rest of the trip up, stepping onto the roof in a crouch.

He couldn't see anything from his position where a large water tank sat, but he could hear a voice.

"Very, very good, Dr. Watson." The voice said. "It must feel freeing, confiding in me all your dark secrets. All your sins."

Sherlock moved closer to the tank, straining his ears.

"I wonder what Sherlock would think of you, huh? What do you think?" The voice spat out. "I think he wouldn't care either way. You are garbage after all."

" _Go t-_ _go to hell_." A voice sputtered out weakly before devolving into a coughing fit.

 _John_

Sherlock made his way to the side of the tank and froze.

He could see John now.

His wrists were bound behind his back and attached to a large metal pipe. He was slumped over, breathing erratically.

Sherlock's eyes roamed over him cataloging every injury.

 _Bruising and swelling over his right eye, his cheek and his jaw._

 _His hair, matted with both old and fresh blood from the cuts he could make out at his hairline._

 _The way John was breathing suggested that one or more ribs may be broken._

A trail of dried blood made a line from the corner of his mouth, all the way down his chin, though his lip was not split.

 _Possible internal injuries, then._

Sherlock felt a shock of pure rage so strong his whole body had begun to tremble.

 _How dare this useless specimen of a human being lay his hands on John!_

Sherlock reached into his coat, roughly pulling out the gun he had borrowed from John earlier that day.

Slowly making his way further around, Sherlock could now see Taylor Dennis standing a few feet away from John and he lifted the gun, willing his shaking hands to steady.

"I know I said I wouldn't punish you anymore until Sherlock arrived, but you're making it difficult to keep my word." Dennis said through clenched teeth.

Sherlock took a few deep breaths. He needed to focus.

He needed to feel _nothing_.

Sherlock leaned forward against a couple of crates stacked by the tank and his footing slipped.

Panicked, Sherlock shot out a hand to steady himself, but the crates gave under his weight, toppling to the ground as he stumbled noisily out into the open.

Both heads had turned towards him as he picked himself up quickly, pointing his gun straight at John's kidnapper.

He immediately met John's eyes, seeing shock and then immense relief flood through his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked trying to get a read of his injuries now that he was closer to him.

"Sh-Sherlock-" John called weakly, his voice still carrying a bit of a frenzied quality, before nodding his head slightly in answer.

"You've got yourself into quite the mess again." Sherlock commented giving John a reassuring smile.

"And y-you're late…..again" John answered through labored breaths, but he was grinning now.

"You came." Dennis said almost reverently causing Sherlock to focus on him now, griping the gun tighter.

"You left me little choice in the matter." Sherlock answered stiffly.

Taylor smiled.

"Yes. I had to do it this way so you would see." Taylor said dazedly, taking a step towards John.

"You'd be wise to step back." Sherlock ordered.

Taylor gave another smile and paused in his steps.

"You want to take it all in before we begin. I understand, Sherlock." He said, looking over to John in derision. "Look at him. Look how weak he is. How pathetic." He says before turning to look at Sherlock again.

"But I've broken him for you. Not all the way of course. Not yet. Not without you." Dennis adds with a manic smile. "Aren't you pleased with me?" He asks, desperation in his eyes.

Sherlock narrows his sharp eyes at Taylor.

"Pleased? No. I wouldn't say that. Quite the opposite, actually." Sherlock says coldly. "In fact, at this very moment I'm contemplating whether or not I should kill you quickly or make you suffer before John's harrowing rescue. Honestly, I don't think John will mind the latter." Sherlock said giving Taylor a dead stare.

"Not a-at all." John sputters out in answer.

Taylor stands shocked for a moment, before giving a small chuckle and a shake of his head.

"You're still confused. It's okay." Taylor says sadly. "He's tricked you. When I kill him, you'll see. His hold over you will be gone then. We'll finally be together, just like it should be."

" _Be together_?" Sherlock scoffs. "How very humorous."

"Humorous?" Taylor asks confused. "We are soul mates, Sherlock! You must feel it as well! I know you do!" He yells, looking at Sherlock in desperation.

" _Soul mates_?" Sherlock asks incredulously. "Well, that presents quite a problem since all I _feel_ is repulsed by the very fact that you are in existence."

"But….…but I _saved_ you." Taylor explains, his face anguished. "I put you back together. I…...Everything. All the killings, getting rid of that trash over there-" Taylor says, raising his voice as he jabbs a finger in John's direction. "All of it was for you! I love you!"

Sherlock looks at him in revulsion.

"You seem to be suffering from a lack of understanding, so let me make this perfectly clear. There is no way that you could possibly mean less to me than you already do. You are nothing to me. _Insignificant._ After today, if you're thought of at all, it will be when John and I are laughing over how utterly pathetic you were."

Taylor stumbles back, his face the very picture of a broken man.

"But you're supposed to love me!" He says, tears running down his face. "You-" He starts, before a realization hits him and he whips a gun out from the waist of his trousers.

"I thought that I could save you in time." He says, pointing the gun straight at John's head. "But it's too late." He whispers, his finger shaking against the trigger. "He's diseased you! Ruined you! You're _not_ _hing_ now, _just like him_!"

Sherlock shoots his eyes to John worriedly. John is looking back at him weakly, but resigned.

 _How could he not have noticed the gun?_

 _Damn!_

"Taylor, do not make this any worse on yourself." Sherlock says, trying to keep his breathing level. "I'm the one you want, not him."

Taylor gives Sherlock an anguished look.

"I do want you, but now I see that it was impossible from the start." He says trembling, gun pointed directly at John's head.

Sherlock needed to buy some time.

He needed to keep John safe until his brother's men and the police arrived.

"It's not." Sherlock says. "It's not impossible, Taylor."

This makes Taylor halt in his slow walk towards John.

So far so good.

"W-What do you mean?" Taylor asks, a spark of hope in his eyes.

"I mean, you can have me." Sherlock replies, lowering the gun.

"Sherlock, no!" John yells out hoarsely.

Sherlock doesn't turn to look at him.

He can't.

"Let John go and you can have me, Taylor." Sherlock says.

Taylor looks torn between John and then Sherlock.

"How can I trust you? How-"

"Look. I'm putting my gun down." Sherlock interrupts placing his gun to the ground. "Free him and I'm yours. Isn't that what you want?" Sherlock asks, giving Taylor his most sincere look. "You still want us to be together, don't you?"

"Y-Yes!" Taylor answers through tears. "God, yes!" He says, bending down and un-cuffing John quickly, before standing again.

Sherlock breaths out a sigh of relief.

Taylor has not moved away from John though.

He would need to remedy that.

Slowly he opens his arms and plasters a smile on his face.

"Come here, Taylor. You did very good." He says, and Taylor comes crashing into him, holding him tightly, sobbing into his coat.

And great, now it would have to go to the cleaners.

Sherlock lifted his arms, placing one around the back of Taylor's neck and one close to the gun.

He would need to time it just right, but if he could just get the gun away from him, he could incapacitate Dennis while they waited for help.

"I love you so much!" Taylor says lifting his head towards Sherlock's, and there was no way in hell he was kissing this man.

Swiftly Sherlock grabs hold of the gun with his left hand, while his right roughly grips Taylor's hair.

Taylor lets out an enraged howl and pulls his knee up to land a hard blow into Sherlock's stomach.

Sherlock looses his grip on Taylor and the gun as his breath is knocked out of him.

He can hear John shouting in the background as he clutches at his stomach and tries to take in breaths.

"You! I knew it!" Taylor yells, his gun aimed for Sherlock's head now. "I knew it was to late! You'll die just like him now!" Taylor spits out before squeezing the trigger.

Sherlock closed his eyes as a heavy weight barreled into him, knocking him to the ground.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw John slumped over top of him. He looked as if he was heaving but Sherlock could hear only short rapid breaths.

Quickly Sherlock turned him over.

 _No_

 _No...John_

"John." Sherlock called out shakily looking at the bullet wound in John's chest. John was panicked, his lungs trying desperately to take in a deep breath as he coughed and sputtered blood.

The bullet had most probably punctured John's lung and without immediate help his chance of survival was-

 _No._

The police siren's could already be heard coming down the street.

 _No. Worrying was a waste of time. Or course John would be rescued. He would be-_

A weak hand griped Sherlock's coat sleeve and he looked down to see John looking at him. He was barely taking in air now but he was no longer panicked.

He was looking at Sherlock through half lidded eyes, forcing his shaking pale lips to smile.

Sherlock realized immediately that John was trying to say goodbye.

"John! Stay with me, John!" Sherlock shouted before John's grip on his sleeve loosened.

Sherlock continued yelling John's name as his hand fell to the ground.

He couldn't stop even as he saw the light leave his eyes.

 _No_

Taylor was speaking now, though Sherlock could not understand a word of it.

 _John_

 _John was…._

 _No_

The cold metal of a gun pressed against his head as he watched blood ooze out of his lifeless friends body and he suddenly went wild.

Grabbing Taylor's wrist, Sherlock twisted until he dropped the gun with a yelp and then he kept twisting until he heard a snap.

 _John_

Grabbing hold of Taylor's jacket, Sherlock threw him to the ground before kicking him.

His legs, his broken wrist, his ribs.

 _John_

Taylor was screaming now but Sherlock didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

He could hear the sound of the police making their way through the gate.

Sherlock lept onto Taylor, swinging his fist into his face a few times before he griped him around the throat.

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to watch the life leave your eyes." Sherlock grits out, his fingers tightening around Taylor's neck.

"Sherlock!" Came the familiar voice. Was it Lestrade?

Sherlock didn't know.

He didn't care.

"Sherlock, let him go!" The voice ordered again. "Don't make me fire!"

"Then fire!" Sherlock howled out, tightening even further. He could see Taylor's eyes start to roll, blood vessels bursting one by one.

"John _needs_ you, Sherlock! Don't _do_ this!"

Sherlock startled at that.

He could do nothing for John now except get revenge on the man who killed him.

"John is….he's-"

" _He's alive_ , Sherlock. Rescue got his heart started."

Sherlock turned shocked towards Lestrade, his arms falling shakily to his sides.

"John's alive….he's-"

Lestrade grabs onto Sherlock's arm, pulling him up and off of Taylor, motioning a few officers to handle what was left of him.

"C'mon. I'll take you to the hospital." Lestrade offers.

Sherlock nods shakily as he is dropped into the passinger's seat.

 _John was alive._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

John awoke abruptly, darkness swirling behind his eyelids until the barest of light could be seen through his closed eyes.

He tried to lift his eyelids but they were too heavy.

He gave it another go, but still his eyes didn't move.

A sharp pain started in behind his eyes, traveling all throughout his head, centering in one spot right above his left brow.

A memory flashed behind his eyes far too quick and jumbled for John to make sense of it, but it left him feeling alarmed.

There was _something…_.something he should remember, but forgot.

 _Something bad_.

The pain in his head intensified as John tried once again to open his eyes.

 _Nothing._

 _Damn!_

 _What in the hell was going on?_

Anxiety slowly began to creep in as John searched his memory, coming up blank.

His breathing was beginning to become labored and oddly painful before his ears finally registered the all to familiar sound of beeping hospital equipment.

He could smell it now too.

The overwhelming sterile scent that always seemed to fill the air in hospitals, burning his nostrils as he took a few deep calming breaths. It still hurt slightly, but not as much.

John tried to clear his mind enough to do a self-check. After a few more breaths he began.

Alright. He knew he was laying down.

 _Obviously…..._ he heard an inner voice answer that sounded quite a lot like a certain _consulting detective_ he knew.

 _Right._

So he was in a hospital.

From the sound of things it seemed as if his pulse was fine.

Just about every muscle in his body ached without having even attempted to move yet, which meant he had probably been here for at least a few days without moving.

 _Why, though?_

 _What the bloody hell had happened?_

John tried to dredge up images from the last thing he remembered, but everything was fuzzy.

Cataloging the rest of his body quickly, he realized he was actually in quite a lot of pain in quite a few areas of his body.

Slowly, he tried opening his eyes again, but after a few flutters, his lids fell back closed.

 _Damn…._

Giving that up for now, John decided to resume his self-exam.

Slowly he wriggled his fingers and toes, noting stiffness and a deep ache, but no real pain.

The sudden sound of muffled voices shot through John's awareness, but the words weren't making any sense.

John tried to focus all of his attention on the sound.

One of the voices started again and John recognized the baritone immediately.

 _Sherlock_

Lifting both arms slowly, he gripped the railings, barely noticing the way his weakened limbs were shaking from the small effort.

As soon as he tried to lift himself, he knew it was a mistake.

A hot searing pain shot throughout his torso making him dizzy as a wave of nausea rolled over him.

He could distantly hear himself howl out in pain in a raspy voice he did not recognize, through the ringing of his ears.

He barely heard a quick shuffling as his name was called out, a slight edge of hysteria in Sherlock's muffled voice.

He could feel his breathing become erratic again.

 _What in gods name had happened to him?_

He felt cold hands encircle his arms, and the very clear sound of Sherlock calling his name, more calmly this time.

John used every ounce of strength he had to get his eyes to open.

The sterile room was far to bright and it took his tired, aching eyes a few tries before they would stay open.

He could make out the blurred image of his friends face peering over his own before the image moved away abruptly.

 _No_

 _No….he wanted Sherlock to stay._

He tried to tell him so but his voice wouldn't work.

All at once, the brightness of the room was dimmed drastically, and John opened his eyes fully.

He could make out some movement again from the far corner of the room and turned his head slightly towards it.

The blurry figure moved back over to him and John could just barely recognize the dark curls of his friends head through the haze.

Blinking rapidly a few times to clear his vision did little, but he could make out more than before.

Sherlock looked…. _worried_.

There was no other word for it.

But Sherlock didn't _get_ worried.

He wanted to ask what had happened that could make Sherlock actually show emotion, but his voice still didn't work.

Sherlock must have noticed his attempt because he placed a hand on his arm and gave him a mildly irritated look.

"Calm down John. You mustn't try to speak just yet. The doctor is on his way." He heard Sherlock say quietly.

John wanted Sherlock to tell him more. Explain things to him, but he couldn't communicate it properly and he was getting so tired.

The edges of his vision started going and John couldn't fight his drooping eyelids any longer.

He felt the hand on his arm tighten and his name being called out before darkness took over once again.

Consciousness faded in and out after that.

John couldn't tell if the images he was seeing in between coherence were dreams or memories.

He saw Sherlock leaning into him, felt the heat of his body spread through his layers of clothes. He saw Sherlock step back with a dangerous smile and John's gun in his hand.

He saw blood dripping into his vision and heard the snap before he felt the unbearable pain shoot through his ribs.

He saw a man.

He was so angry….so…..

A gun. The man had tried to…..

 _Sherlock_

" _Sherlock!_ " He heard his own voice yell out brokenly as he woke again.

" _Shhh_. John, I'm here. You must calm down." Sherlock's voice soothed from close by.

John tried to even his breathing but he couldn't forget that feeling. The desperation from his dream or memory when that man had been about to kill Sherlock.

He heard movement from the side of his bed and felt a cold hand brush through his hair carefully a couple of times before stilling.

Opening his eyes slowly, the blurred images gradually becoming clearer.

Sherlock was leaning over him from his chair which had been placed to the left side of John's bed.

"Sher-" He started, before a coughing fit took over causing him to tense from the pain in his torso.

Sherlock stood, rubbing a soothing hand along John's shoulder as the coughing subsided.

John's vision was starting to come back as the pain ebbed away and was greeted with a large jug infront of his face.

"Drink." Sherlock ordered lightly, tilting the straw down towards his mouth.

John complied, greedily draining the jug. He had not realized how thirsty he had been.

"Thanks." He said, finally able to get a word out.

Sherlock gave him a smile before returning to his chair.

"What happened?" John asked after only a moment.

Sherlock studied his friend a moment before answering.

"What do you remember?"

John frowns.

"Nothing. Just bits and pieces. I don't know if their real or if I was dreaming." John says looking to Sherlock.

Sherlock gave a nod.

"Given the fact that you have been talking in your sleep, I would say they were memories."

John looked stricken.

"The man, he…." John started, a sea of images running through his mind, before his head snapped back up to Sherlock.

"Are you alright? Did he-"

"I am quite alright John." Sherlock said with a tight smile. "You on the other hand are quite unwell."

John winced.

"Yes. I could tell, what with the near constant pain and all."

Sherlock frowned at that.

"I'll call in the doctor. Now that you are coherent they can administer a higher dose of pain medication."

The doctor had come in shortly after, explaining to John all of his injuries.

He had apparently died for three minutes but had been resuscitated and taken to the hospital where they operated on a punctured lung and internal bleeding.

John had suffered three broken ribs on top of that and had stayed in a coma for five days. If everything still looked okay, John would be able to go home in a few days.

Sherlock stayed quiet during the explanation, but John could see his hands gripping the handles of his chair tightly every so often.

A warm feeling washed over him at the thought that Sherlock cared about him.

 _Cared if he was hurt….whether he lived or died…_

To any normal person, John would sound strange, but they didn't know Sherlock.

The man that thought feelings... _sentiment_ , was a human defect.

The man who apparently felt _something_ for John.

John smiled, ignoring both the doctor and Sherlock's bewildered stares.

All in all, John was lucky.

He had saved Sherlock's life and had come away not as bad off as he could have been.

He would count this as a win.

/

Sherlock had never felt relief so strongly as he had six days ago when he had been told that John was alive.

He had also never felt the level of pure rage for anyone that he felt for Taylor Dennis.

The very thought of him even now made Sherlock tremble with anger.

The only reason he was sitting here in a cab with John, finally able to take him home and not breaking into Scotland Yard to end Dennis' meager existence is because Mycroft had pulled some strings and that poor excuse of a human specimen was in the custody of his brothers people.

Mycroft had assured him that Dennis would suffer quite appropriately for his actions against John.

The cab stopped and Sherlock threw a few bills at the driver before hauling John out with him.

He had to remember that John was hurt.

That John had saved his life.

Otherwise, the irritation that he felt towards what John had done would get the better of him.

Sherlock had never been good at controlling himself and he absolutely detested stupidity, even if he knew John had only done what he did to protect him.

The feelings that had come with the realization that John would die for him...had died for him, were quite foreign.

He had never had another person sacrifice anything on his behalf.

It felt….quite good.

It was a physical manifestation of his and John's friendship, their bond.

The depth of John's loyalty to him.

Unlocking the door to their flat, Sherlock pulled John with him until they reached John's chair.

He carefully maneuvered John down into it before sorting things for John's bath.

Some time later John made his way out of the bathroom on slightly wobbly legs. Sherlock had made up the sofa for him to lay on and motioned John towards it.

Sherlock sat quietly, passing the time with thoughts on how to convey to John his gratitude.

He had never been very good at these kinds of things, but John deserved for him to try.

He would simply have to brave the absolute horror known as human emotions and express to John all of his feelings on the matter.

"John." Sherlock called quietly. He knew John was not sleeping, but he didn't want to startle him.

John turned his head slowly towards him.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking more than a little spaced out.

John had warned him that he didn't do well with pain medications.

"I want to express my apologies." Sherlock said seriously.

John gave Sherlock a confused look before snorting.

"Sherlock Holmes apologizing...the sky must be falling." John slurred around a loopy smile.

Sherlock gave a frown. Perhaps now was not the best time for this conversation. John seemed to be quite under the influence of his medication.

"What are you apologizing for, anyway?" He heard John ask and turned his attention back to his friend.

He might as well get it done with.

"It is ultimately my fault that you were kidnapped and injured. Had I been able to solve the case quicker, you would not have been taken by that mad man to start with." Sherlock answered, ashamed that his mind had not picked up on the clues sooner.

"Not your fault." John said, causing Sherlock to look back to him startled. "Everything that happened to me…..he's the one responsible."

Sherlock could see that John's eyelids were drooping. He knew he should let him rest but he needed to hear John's answer to one more question.

"Why did you…..do what you did for me?" Sherlock asked, not really knowing how to word the question himself.

"Because, you're my friend." John replied like it was obvious.

"Simply because we're friends?" Sherlock asks before a thought hit him. "You did not do the same for Lestrade. He was shot in the arm four months ago. You were well within range to do so, but you didn't." Sherlock finishes quite confused.

John lifted his fluttering eyelids.

"I guess that's because I don't love Greg Lestrade."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Okay guys. I finally got the next chapter out. It took a few read through's this time before I felt good about it.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **And please let me know what you think!**_

 **Chapter Twelve**

John was feeling so much better. He had been able to come off the prescription pain killers a couple of days ago so he was finally able to talk to people without sounding like a blithering idiot.

It seemed like everyone had come round for a visit.

Lestrade, Molly, Harry... _even Shannon_ , whom he hadn't even taken out on a real date, had come when she had heard what had happened through the blog.

 _Apparently Sherlock had hacked into his blog account once again._

Speaking of Sherlock, he had been surprisingly helpful through all of this.

He hadn't left the flat unless absolutely necessary.

He hadn't taken a case or complained about being bored.

 _It had actually shocked John quite a bit._

John stretched from his spot in his chair, sighing in relief.

It seemed the slew of visitors had now died off. Not one had come so far today, and secretly John was sort of pleased.

The quiet was nice.

" _John,_ I have been waiting for the opportunity to ask you something." Sherlock says suddenly into the quiet room, startling John, making him jump.

"Jesus, Sherlock! I hadn't even heard you walk into the room!" John complained, holding his chest for a moment.

"I gave you a fright. Sorry." Sherlock replied and John noticed that he was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Confused as to what could be causing this, John opened his mouth about to ask him about it when Sherlock started talking again.

"I had wanted to wait until we could have this discussion in private given your usual aversion to the general public's opinion on said topic." Sherlock continues, talking much faster than he usually did when he wasn't firing off deductions.

"Sherlock, _what_ are you onabout?" John asked, definitely confused now.

"It has come to my attention, John, that you are in fact…. _in love_ with me." Sherlock said, his lips moving awkwardly around the phrasing.

John's eyes shot up on reflex. Sherlock was standing rigidly and studying the carpet as if it held the answers of the universe.

John felt his heart stutter as a fierce panic surged throughout his body.

 _Oh god! He knows…._

" _No.._." He hears himself say and it sounds strangled. Possibly because he was finding the mere action of taking air into his lungs was proving extremely difficult right now.

Sherlock looks up at that, his eyes sharply fixed on him and John is starting to feel dizzy now.

"Exactly two weeks and four days ago you lay, injured on that sofa and told me so." He says, pointing at said sofa.

John had to fight against the sudden urge to flee.

 _He needed to fix this._

Just make eye contact and stand firm.

"I was pretty drugged up then, Sherlock. You must have misunderstood." John says trying his best to sound casual. Sherlock just kept his eyes locked onto John without response.

"Look, It doesn't mean anything." John continues. "I...I love all my friends."

"All of your friends, right." Sherlock says immediately, his stare still piercing. "And _I_ am your friend."

John lets out a relieved breath. It seemed as if Sherlock was buying it.

"Yes, you are."

Sherlock gives a tiny nod and John can finally breath better.

"Lestrade too, I suppose."

"Yeah." John answers a little more calm now. "Him too."

Sherlock nods again, walking to his chair and sitting down, his eyes finally leaving John.

John let out a relieved sigh.

 _Crisis averted_.

He was just glad that he was off of the pain meds now. No telling what he would have given away next.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

John wanted to get up and go into his room but he didn't want to look like he was guiltily fleeing.

He would wait a few minutes more and then excuse himself. That should be fine.

"Quite curious." Sherlock says suddenly into the quiet room causing John to look up again.

"What's that?" He asks, not knowing what Sherlock's referring to. Perhaps another of those article he's always reading from those science journals that John secretly finds absolutely boring.

Sherlock leans forward in his chair, his hands steepled together as he looks at John once more.

" _Your explanation_ , John." He answers and John is frozen in shock. "I distinctly remember you informing me that you _did not_ in fact love Lestrade." He says with a tilt of his head.

John tried to look away, tried to deny it but he was finding it difficult enough just to remain conscious through this second wave of panic.

"I asked you why you would make such a sacrifice for me and you carried on about _friendship_ and such, but when I brought up Lestrade getting shot four months ago, you answered that you hadn't done the same for him because you _didn't love him_ , which implies that you _do_ love me. Further more, if it was of a platonic nature, there would have been no reason to differentiate between myself and Lestrade. _You deliberately singled me out_. The only conclusion being that you love me in a more romantic sense." Sherlock finishes and John can see even in his panicked haze that he is extremely uncomfortable, but that doesn't stop the sharp, knowing look he gives John.

" _That_ , and I can read the signs in the tremble of your hands, the fact that your pulse has sky-rocketed and the guilt written plainly across your features." He finishes sitting back into his seat now but not breaking eye contact.

 _He knew._

There was no way John could lie himself out of it. Sherlock would _see._

 _He saw everything._

" _Sherloc_ _k-_ " John said, his voice sounding shaky even to him. " _I never meant for you…_ _.I_ -" He stops. How did he even begin to explain this to someone like Sherlock.

"I must say, your odd behavior over the last month makes sense to me now." Sherlock comments, his gaze turning from John as he says it.

"I can….you know, _leave._.." John stutters out, looking down at his feet. " _for a few days_ ….or look for another flat, if you like." He says and it kills him to think of leaving, but surely Sherlock wouldn't want him around now that he knew.

" _Why on earth would I like for you to move out?_ " Sherlock says sounding absolutely confused and John forces himself to look at him.

"Won't it feel...I don't know...strange? Living here with me…. _knowing_?" He asks.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and fixes John with a look that distinctly screams that John is being an idiot.

"John, whatever feelings you have for me are irrelevant to our partnership and what we do. I have no ' _feelings'_ on the matter. If you wish to stay, then by all means do not leave on my account."

John sits shocked, his mouth hanging open a moment before he rights himself.

 _Sherlock wasn't disgusted._

 _He still wanted him around._

"Alright." He answers quietly in relief.

Sherlock turns to meet his eyes once more with a furrowed brow.

"John….I feel I must reiterate that as flattering as your interest is, I am still _very_ much married to my wor-"

" _Oh God!_ Just….no, Sherlock. _Don't_." John interrupts, and he can feel his cheeks heating up from the sheer embarrassment of it all. "It's fine. It's _all_ still fine."

"Good." Sherlock says after a moment.

John stands then.

"Right. I'm gonna just..." He starts before awkwardly turning away mid-sentence and making his way as fast as he can into his room.

Sherlock doesn't respond and John is grateful.

/

A week had passed since ' _the incident_ ' and everything was the same as it always was, save a little awkwardness on John's part.

Sherlock had taken to studying him more as if he were trying to find out if John were keeping any more secrets from him.

It was unnerving half the time.

The other half, it got _embarrassing_.

Having all of Sherlock's attention on him affected him in ways he'd rather not think about.

Sherlock had just received a call from Lestrade moments ago.

It seemed as if they had a case.

Nothing too strenuous.

John wasn't at one hundred percent yet, but a case was just what they needed, what he needed to feel normal again.

Young women were being taken. There had been three so far. The last place they had been seen was a club called _Euphoria._

All of the women fit the same category.

All of them had arrived alone. They all had long, dark hair. And they had all been seen talking to a tall man that the bartender had never seen before a couple of weeks ago.

John and Sherlock had decided to visit the club when it opened. The bartender had offered to point the man out to them when he noticed him.

 _That had been four hours ago._

"Sherlock, I don't think he's coming tonight." John said, more than a little bored.

"No. It would seem he's not." Sherlock answered slightly disappointed.

"Sorry guys." The bar tender said walking over with two beers. "On the house." He says with a smile.

"Thanks, mate." John replies, picking up his drink before looking at Sherlock's frowning face. "Oh. Come on. Drink. You'll look rude otherwise." Sherlock gave him a scathing look but picked up his drink as well.

One drink had somehow turned into two, then beer being replaced by whiskey and before long, John had lost count of how much either of them had drank.

 _He_ didn't feel to out of it. Just pleasantly drunk.

Sherlock, on the other hand, being a complete light weight had gotten himself well beyond pissed.

When he starts in on his fourth rant, this about the utter importance of the human thumb, John decides they should call it a night and pry's Sherlock from his stool and hails them a cab back to baker street.

Sherlock points towards the sofa when they get in, so John deposits Sherlock onto it and says goodnight.

"You can't _leave_ me in this state, John." Sherlock complains, slurring his words. "I need tea... _and biscuits."_

John turns towards the kitchen with a sigh and gets the kettle on.

"The ones in the blue packaging, John. Not those other dreadful ones." Sherlock calls lazily.

"Alright. I hear you." John says plating a few of the biscuits and placing them and the tea onto a tray.

He puts the tray down on the coffee table before turning once more towards his room.

"You're leaving?" Sherlock asks giving a pout as he slumps down into the sofa with his mug.

John is _tired_ but he turns and takes a seat next to Sherlock, grabbing the remote and flicking through the channels until he finds a documentary about bears and leaves it.

John likes bears. They're interesting and he doesn't _care_ if Sherlock complains this time.

If he's having to sit out here to baby sit Sherlock, he is going to watch something that _he likes_ for a change.

After about a half hour in John huffs loudly.

Sherlock's been staring at him the entire time and he's not even tried to hide the fact.

He had even turned his body to the side, leg propped underneath him so that he could no doubt do so comfortably.

After another minute, John gives up and turns they telly off.

He's about to take himself to bed when Sherlock finally speaks.

"You're agitated." Sherlock comments lazily.

"I applaud your deductive skills." John answers sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"I like it." Sherlock says after a moment and John looks at him incredulously.

" _You like when I'm agitated_?" John asks with a frown.

" _No._ " Sherlock says with a small shake of his head. "I like that you love me."

"Sherlock-" John says in warning. Sherlock is drunk and John is much too tired for this, but Sherlock continues.

"No one has ever loved me. I never thought anyone would. The fact that someone like you would love someone like me…..I don't deserve it, probably." He says low a just a little bit slurred. John can see the vulnerability in his eyes, hurt even.

Sober, Sherlock was unbreakable….like a machine as far as emotions went. This was new and John felt his heart ache for the other man.

 _How long had he thought this way about himself?_

 _Had there really never been anyone to tell him otherwise?_

"Now you listen here, Sherlock. You are the _best_ man I've ever known. You are smart and kind and brave and you're absolutely insane. You sometimes drive me round the bend but I love it all, Sherlock.

You saved my life when you brought me into yours. No one could deserve my love more." He says, meaning every word.

He can see the surprise on Sherlock's face. See when his words finally register and his look of surprise turns into a small genuine smile.

"John….. _Thank you_." He says so quietly and John can't help but smile.

"You're not supposed to thank people for loving you. You just accept it and return it in some cases."

John see's the exact moment when his words sink in and he regrets having said them immediately.

"No. I didn't mean-" He tries, hating the pained expression on his friends face. "I know know you don't, or _can't_ love me back, Sherlock. It's okay."

Sherlock nods and stands slowly, swaying a moment before he steadies himself.

"I think I may retire for the night."

"Yeah. Good idea." John says, standing as well, leaving for his room first.

/

It ended up taking them two more nights before they had caught the kidnapper.

 _All of the women were now alive and home with their families._

John nor Sherlock had brought up the talk they had had the other night and John was thankful for it.

It was hard enough to lock away his feelings, keep them at bay.

If they were going to be discussing it regularly, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Especially now that John knew that at least a part of Sherlock actually _liked_ the fact that John was in love with him.

That in part was one of the reasons he had so readily agreed when Shannon had called earlier that day to set up a date.

They were going to meet at one of John's favorite restaurants tonight.

John knew that they were doing this whole thing backwards, _having already slept together_ , but he liked her. She was beautiful and sweet.

He should give this a chance.

It would take some time, but he needed to put an end to these feelings he had for Sherlock.

Shannon seemed like a good distraction and he could easily see her becoming more than that one day.

It was just after seven and John had emerged from his room dressed in one of his best jumpers, one that Sherlock had once told him was not as hideous as what he usual wore. He had taken it as a compliment.

He had just stepped onto the bottom step when he caught sight of Sherlock.

As soon as they met eyes, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

" _What?_ " John asked, a little annoyed, though he was unsure why.

"Why are you going out with that woman?" Sherlock asks without looking back to him.

"Because _I like her_ , Sherlock. That's what people do." He says a little forceful.

"My understanding is that people date to fall in love. You are already in love with me, therefore I do not see the reasoning behind you wasting valuable time that could be spent on much more productive things, with dating." Sherlock says indifferently as he flips through a magazine.

John can feel his anger flare.

"So, _what?_ I'm to sit at home pining for you?" He says with a raised voice, his fists clenching at his sides. "Sit in my chair waiting for the next case so that I can follow you around like some _bloody groupie_ while you solve murders?"

"So glad to see that you grasp the importance of your part in our work." Sherlock answers and John knows he's being sarcastic but he can't control the words as they fly out of his mouth angrily.

" _My part?"_ He yells because he can't not. Not anymore. "Has it occurred to you with all your _infinite knowledge_ that I don't want to be in love with you?!" Sherlock has closed the magazine and is looking at John a little shocked now. John tries to stop at this. He really does, but the words come flowing out of him.

"Maybe I don't want to be tied to someone who is incapable of feeling or showing even the slightest bit of sentiment! Maybe I want someone who can love me back!"

John turns, running out of the door. He hears Sherlock calling his name, but he keeps going.

/

The next morning finds John in the kitchen making tea. Sherlock is concentrating on whatever he's studying under his microscope and hadn't even greeted John when he came in.

John had contemplated leaving his room at all, not wanting to talk to Sherlock at all but it was looking like that wouldn't be a problem.

That was until John had set a cup of tea beside him. He hadn't meant to at all. He was still pissed. It had been a reflex, really.

Sherlock had taken it as a que to speak, however, and John found just the sound of his voice grated on his nerves at the moment.

"John...I owe you an apology." He says and John knows he's trying, but it does little to appease his anger. "I believe I may have worded some things I said last night wrongly."

"Oh? So you don't want to keep me here as your personal cheerleader?" John snaps back.

"I believe Molly has that job already." Sherlock tries for humor before wincing slightly. "Sorry. That was a bit not good, right?"

John looks to his friend finally, the way his shoulders are curled in on himself and he can feel some of his anger drain away.

That is until Sherlock opens his mouth again.

"What you said was wrong." He says and John feels his anger come to the surface full force.

"Oh, really? Please, Sherlock, enlighten me as to how anything I said was wrong!"

"You said I was incapable of feeling any sentiment towards you. That is not true" Sherlock says and John is shocked to see a tinge of pink blossom across his cheeks.

"What does that mean?" John asks, his mind running through so many possibilities, all of them seeming impossible. "Are you….do you-"

"I... _care_ for you a great deal, John." Sherlock says meeting his eyes earnestly. "You are invaluable as a partner….and as a friend."

"Right." John answers feeling a wave of disappointment he had no business feeling, but trying his best to shake it off.

"I'm glad that we've discussed this, Sherlock. Now I don't feel like I have to hide the fact that I'm taking Shannon out again tonight." He says trying for a smile.

But Sherlock frowns.

"What? _Still_?"

"What do you mean _still?_ " John asks, the beginnings of irritation seeping in once again.

Sherlock's frown grows as he throws his hands up in the air.

"I've just told you that I _care_ for you. That was your hang up about being 'in love' with me, was it not? _That I felt nothing for you?_ Well, now you know that I do, yet you still insist on dating."

"Oh my God!" John shout's his hands mimicking Sherlock's. "You are never going to get it, are you?" He says at the confused look on Sherlock's face.

Taking a deep breath he tries to calm his anger and remember who he's dealing with. Sherlock had the emotional maturity of a toddler, after all.

"Look, I'm happy that you care Sherlock. _Really, I am_. But the kind of love I'm looking for is different." He says trying to get Sherlock to understand but Sherlock turned away irritated.

"What does it matter anyway? You'll go through the motions, wasting _both_ our time. Eventually she'll break things off with you as soon as you've canceled one to many dates with _her_ to be with _me_." He snips out with narrowed eyes. "Really, the repetition is quite tedious."

John turns on his heel. He has to get out of here.

He has to not look at Sherlock's face right now.

"Where are you going?!" Sherlock asks sounding put out and John has to work to keep his fists in place by his sides.

"I'm getting out of here before I break your nose." He says low and threatening before slamming the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The sun was just starting to come up when John quietly let himself back into the flat.

He had ended up at Shannon's flat last night after his fight with Sherlock.

She hadn't asked any questions.

She'd made him dinner which they ate in front of the telly and when it had gotten too late and John had stood to leave, Shannon had pulled him into her bedroom with a smile.

The lights were all off in the flat.

Sherlock must be asleep, or in his room at least.

Taking the stairs two at a time John scurried into his room and fell into his bed.

His phone ringing woke him up some hours later.

Blindingly reaching for his phone, he made contact and pulled it to his ear.

" _ello?_ " He answered, his voice rough from sleep.

" _Is it true?"_

John opened his eyes, confused.

"Sh-Shannon?" He asked. _It sounded like her._

" _Yes. Is it true? Are you in love with him?_ " She asks sounding a little hurt.

" _Who_ am I supposed to be in love with?" John asks in confusion, only half awake.

" _Your flatmate….Sherlock, I think._ "

"Shannon, who told you such a thing?" john asks, the shock waking him fully now.

" _He did. Among other things. He's a real bastard._ "

" _Shannon_ -" John says before she interrupts him quietly.

" _Look, it's fine. I just wish you would have told me before I started to like you so much, before last night."_

"I _do_ like you." He says, at a loss for words but wanting her to know all the same.

" _You just like him more._ " She answers. " _Oh, he has your jumper. You forgot it last night._ "

"Ah. I was wondering how he got to you." John says.

 _God._

 _Why couldn't he have answered the door instead?_

" _I'd better go. Bye, John_." She says a little sadly.

"Yep. Bye." John answers, a little of the anger he was feeling towards Sherlock seeping in as he ends the call and throws his phone, shooting up off his bed.

John bounds down the stairs and through the hallway, furiously ripping Sherlock's door open.

Sherlock is sitting on his bed, looking up at John in irritation as he opens his mouth.

"I don't believe that I gave you permission to enter my-"

" _Shut up!_ " John growls out actually causing Sherlock to flinch, shocked before he takes on a more knowing expression.

"You've spoken with Sharon." He says, his face back to the same dead expression he always wore.

"No, I've spoken with Shannon!" John shouts angrily.

"Right." Sherlock says with a sigh.

"How could you do that?" John asks and he's looking for any sign, just one that Sherlock feels bad about this at all.

Sherlock gives him a look that says he doesn't understand what John's talking about and John shakes with the new wave of fury running through him.

"You told her that I was in love with you!" He yells, _Mrs. Hudson be damned._

"You are." Sherlock answers and he looks so bloody confused.

"Why did you tell her?" John asks, his voice rough.

"Because she was no good for you." Sherlock answered immediately looking John dead in the eyes.

"No good for me…. _Why? Huh?_ " Why _this time_? It's always something with every woman I date. What was wrong with _this one_?" John asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"She was seeing someone else. I read it clearly when she brought over your jumper. I thought that I would get rid of her before you found out. I did it to spare your feelings, John." Sherlock explains and John can tell he means what he says but he just can't-

"You had no right!" He shouts, shaking. "What I told you…. _.my feelings for you_ ….that was private!"

"John-" Sherlock calls, a look of concern washing over the normally blank expression.

" _No._ I can't do this anymore." John whispers brokenly. "You talk about sparing my feelings _but you_ -"

John stops, willing away the un-shed tears filling in his eyes.

 _He won't cry._

"It hurt's, Sherlock. _Loving you_ …...it hurts more than I can…. _and I'm trying._ I'm trying really fucking hard to stay here with you and do the work that we do…...but I have to try and move on if I'm to stay. _Shannon was me trying_. I knew she was seeing another guy. She told me up front. It was nothing serious. At least not yet."

"John...I didn't mean to-" Sherlock starts.

" _I know_. I know you were just trying to help, but-" John says looking to his feet before fixing his eyes back on his friend.

"You're moving out." Sherlock says and he looks so much younger, so vulnerable.

John turns away from him as he answers.

"I don't know, Sherlock. I think I need to take a bit of time."

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock says, his voice uncharacteristically small.

"I know." John whispers out as he turns towards his room once more.

Two hours later, John is still no closer to deciding what he should do.

He knew in reality that he wouldn't leave, but he needed to do something.

Sherlock was the most important person in his life. He wouldn't let this destroy their friendship.

A loud noise brought him out of his thoughts and he realized someone was knocking on their front door.

"Sherlock, the door!" John shouted, not in any mood for company at this moment.

After a moment the knocking continued and John begrudgingly got up from his bed irritated at Sherlock all over again.

Surprise hit him as he opened the door.

"Shannon?" He asked quite shocked.

"Hi." She said smiling a little sheepishly. John for his part was still a little shocked.

"I didn't think that you would be coming round anymore after...well." John said, rubbing the back of his neck a little nervously.

"Ne neither." She says looking down shyly.

"Would you like to come in?" John says suddenly. If she was here to yell at him, it was better they get inside first.

"No. I just came to see if maybe you wanted to start over?" She asks, looking up then, surprising John once again.

"Really?" John asks. How could she want to start over when he was in love with another man?

"Yeah. Your friend, he explained everything to me." She answers.

"Oh God. What did he say to you?" John asks, dread making his stomach roll.

"He told me how he's been in love with you for years and he admitted to lying about you being in love with him because he was jealous, _the poor man._ " She said with a sad smile.

"Did he?" John asked quite shocked that Sherlock had gone so far to make things right.

"So what do you say? Fresh start?" She asks with a beaming smile.

"I'd like that, yes." John answers trying to return the smile but still a little off by the whole situation.

"Great. I'll call you, okay? Bye, John." She says, pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning down the stairs.

"Yeah, bye." John calls before closing the door.

Sherlock had tried to fix things so he could stay. Closing the door, he turned to find Sherlock standing a few feet behind him.

"John." He said, his expression serious. "There's something I must say."

"Alright." John says walking over to his chair as Sherlock does the same.

"I have been thinking about what you said and I would like to apologize for my behavior these last few days, John." He says and he looks a little pained and a lot uncomfortable.

"Sherlock, it's fine. I should be thanking you right now." John says giving a surprised smile.

"She came. I calculated a positive outcome at roughly eighty percent." Sherlock answers, sounding just a little smug before looking back over to John hopeful. "Does this mean you'll stay?"

John's face softens as he looks at his insane, moody, wonderful friend. "I'll try my best to be able to stay here with you."

Sherlock smiles at that before pulling something out of his pocket and holding it out to John who grabs it immediately.

"I made a reservation for two tonight at the Paradou. The address is written down here. I thought you could take Shannon."

John gapes at him for a moment. He had never even entertained dreams about being able to get into this place.

"That was nice of you Sherlock, but I couldn't afford this place even if I saved up for an entire month."

"It's already taken care of." Sherlock answers dismissively.

John is once again moved by Sherlock's kind gesture, but he just can't possibly accept such a thing. It was too much.

"You can. I want to make things right, John." Sherlock says, reading John's mind once again and he wonders again at how he had kept his feelings a secret in the first place.

"Wow..just...thank you, Sherlock." He says, beaming up at his friend and if his heart was beating a little too quickly at Sherlock's answering smile, he wasn't going to dwell on it. It would take time to get over his feelings after all.

As long as he kept himself in check, as long as he didn't lean over and kiss those smiling lips like he ached to do, he would count it as a win.

/

Not even an hour after their talk and they were both seated comfortably. John reading and Sherlock absently plucking the strings on his violin.

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson calls as she makes her way into the flat.

"There was a letter for you, Sherlock. It came yesterday but I was out with one of my lady friends until late." She says walking over to where he was perched on the sofa, handing him a large manila envelope.

"Would you like some tea, Mrs. Hudson?" John asks politely, standing from his chair.

"Oh, no dear. I've got to get back. I'm making a stew. I'll bring you boys some when it's done." She says already walking towards the door.

"That would be lovely." John answers for the both of them, knowing Sherlock is probably absorbed in his letter.

"Ugh! Bloody Mycroft!" Sherlock groans loudly, pushing the papers back into the envelope roughly.

"Well, what does he want? Your help with a case?" John asks curiously. Mycroft always gave then interesting cases in John's opinion. He knew Sherlock felt the same way, not that he would ever admit to it.

"Wants? _Yes._ Getting? _Nope._ " Sherlock answers with a smirk.

"What? The case not interesting enough?" John asks, trying to get him to elaborate.

"It's not that. I just simply haven't got the time to cater to each and every need my brother brings to my attention." He says in dismissal.

"Oh, so it's the sibling rivalry thing again." John answers around a smile knowingly.

"It has nothing to do with this imaginary 'rivalry' thing you keep bringing up. I'm just not giving him the satisfaction of finding me a case." Sherlock huffs out with a pout.

"Oh yes. No rivalry there. Whatever was I thinking." John croons out, smile still in place.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, John." Sherlock comments snidely.

"So what was it anyway? The case?" John asks after a moment. Sherlock holds the envelope out and John takes it and begins to read.

After a moment, he looks up shocked.

"You're going to say no? You're kidding right?" John asks incredulously.

"I never kid, John." Sherlock answers with a slight frown.

"Sherlock. Your brother wants to send us to Europe, where we will be staying at one of the most luxurious resorts I've ever seen for two weeks, where all you have to do is speak to the owner about some employee thefts, which you could probably hash out in a couple of hours if not minutes, leaving us with a well deserved holiday, and you're refusing?" John asks taken aback and slightly disappointed.

"Yes, John. Do try to keep up." Sherlock states, irritation showing on his face.

"He's even given us a credit card to use." John says, pulling said card out.

"Yes, John. I read the letter first." Sherlock says rolling his eyes.

" _Use it freely. Money is of no concern_ , he says." John states in his best Mycroft impression.

Sherlock smirks then and John doesn't understand why until he hears another voice speak suddenly.

"You should listen to Dr. Watson, brother dear." Mycroft says from the door way and John looks down embarrassed.

Sherlock could have warned him, _the_ _wanker_ _._

"Stop calling him 'Dr. Watson'." Sherlock complains, standing and walking over to his chair.

"That _is_ my name Sherlock." john says sternly before giving Mycroft a small apologetic smile.

"No. Your name is _John_." Sherlock answers stubbornly.

"Very well. _John, then._ " Mycroft concedes, his false smile firmly in place.

" _Ugh. No_." Sherlock huffs, throwing himself down into his chair. "Just stop saying his name all together in that nasally voice. It's grating on my nerves."

"Oh, do grow up Sherlock." Mycroft reprimands with a scowl before smoothing out his features. "Take the case, brother. You could use the leisure time."

"I don't need anything of the sort." Sherlock scoffs.

"Well, if not for me, then for- your companion." Mycroft says, both brothers turning to look at him now.

After a moment, Sherlock lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.

"If john wants to go. I suppose I could work it in to my schedule."

"Excellent." Mycroft says, smiling at them both. "A car will be sent round to pick you up for your flight early Monday morning. Shall we say seven?"

"Fine! Now kindly sod off!" Sherlock growls out, not looking up.

Mycroft sighs but makes his way to the door.

"I'll see you out." john offers, feeling like at least one of them should be polite. Mycroft was sending them on holiday after all."

"Thank you, John." Mycroft says as they make their way down the stairs.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

John pulled himself from the cab as it pulled up in front of their flat. He payed the cabbie quickly and just just stood on the sidewalk for a moment.

He couldn't believe how the night had turned out.

Everything had been going so well. Shannon had been surprised by the fancy restaurant, even more so when John had told her it was Sherlock's way of apologizing. They had ate and drank wine and talked for a couple of hours. By the time they left the restaurant they were both a little tipsy. He had seen her home and she had invited him up and that's where it had all gone to hell.

He could still feel the slight sting on his left cheek from the slap she had given him. He couldn't fault her. He had deserved it.

Sherlock looked up from his book as soon as John opened the door. John had just enough time to remove his jacket before Sherlock started.

"She broke things off anyway."

" _Yes Sherlock._ She did." John said, irritated. Why did he have to live with a man that could see everything?

"Perhaps I should apologize to her as well. Maybe that might fix things." Sherlock continued, his eyes not leaving John as he made his way to his own chair and sat down tiredly.

" _No_. It wasn't-" John started, unsure of what to say. There was no way in hell he'd be telling the truth. Of that he was certain. "It had nothing to do with you."

"Yes it did." Sherlock says and John curses himself for not having a better poker face. "Maybe not about what I said to her, but it involves me in some way." Sherlock adds, studying John with more intent now.

"Just _let it go_ , Sherlock." John says pleadingly. He really couldn't deal with this shit right now.

" _Guilt._ " Sherlock says after a few seconds. "Not just over the girl. For _my_ sake as well."

" _Sherlock_ -" John pleads, standing from his chair. He needed to leave. Go lock himself in his room.

"Whatever could you have done during your date that would make you feel ashamed when you look at _me_?" Sherlock asks, ignoring John's pleas.

"I am begging you, Sherlock. _Please drop this._ " John says turning away, but Sherlock stands and grabs hold of John's forearm.

"You don't want me to read you. It must be quite serious. You normally could care less." Sherlock says, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Sherlock, just….just _shut up_ _and let me go_." John snaps back, pulling his arm from Sherlock's grasp. He gets to the bottom of the stairs when Sherlock speaks again.

"Now you're angry. _But not at me_. Not really."

" _Oh you Bloody_ -" John starts, whipping back around with his fists clenched. "You want to know what I did?" He asks walking back into the room fuming. Sherlock is just staring at him like he's a fascinating experiment.

" _I said your name while Shannon and I were getting at it! Does that satisfy your curiosity?"_ John yells. Sherlock is just standing there staring at him without blinking. John figures maybe hearing it was to much for the detective and he turns back towards his room once again.

"Look, I'm just going to head off to bed." He says to Sherlock's unmoving form as he scurries up to his room where he can die of embarrassment alone.

/

The next day had been awkward to say the least. A lot of moving carefully within the flat so they didn't ever meet in the same space up until hunger had got the better of John anyway. It was just after five in the evening and he was starving. He had already eaten the stale biscuit he had found on his nightstand hours ago so he would have to leave his room if he wanted to eat anything else in the foreseeable future.

Sherlock was standing over his microscope at the kitchen table when he finlly talked himself up enough to come out.

John went directly to the fridge then the cabinets, noting the complete lack of food and sighed.

"I was thinking of ordering take away for dinner." Sherlock said, startling John a bit. "But if you were planning on going out-"

" _No_." John replied a little too quickly. "Take away is fine."

" _Um-"_

" _John-_ "

They both started then smiled at each other briefly before John motioned to him with his hand.

"You first."

"Alright." Sherlock says standing straight, his hands falling from the microscope. "John, please accept my apology. You asked me to stop prying and as your friend I should have respected your boundaries. It seems that I have done nothing but upset you recently. It was not _nor_ has it ever been my intention to-"

" _Sherlock_. It's fine. Really. Let's just drop it." John says, grateful for the apology, but wanting nothing more to do with this particular conversation. "Anyway, what are we ordering? _Chinese? Thai?"_

"I have a craving for sesame chicken." Sherlock says with a small smile.

" _Chinese it is then."_ John answers feeling a little better.

/

" _John?_ " Sherlock calls just as John pops another piece of broccoli into his mouth.

"Hmm?" He says, mouth full.

"When you said that you called out my name whilst you and Shannon were ' _getting at it'_ I assume you meant _sex_?" Sherlock asks as if he's asking about the weather and John promptly chokes on his food, broccoli flying out onto the coffee table.

" _Sherlock!"_ John scolds, wiping his mouth. He can feel himself blushing and knows Sherlock has to notice it. " _Really?_ You want to have this conversation _right now?"_ He asks. Sherlock is looking at him as if the answer to his question would cure cancer and John huffs.

"Fine. _Yes._ I was referring to _sex._ " John answers trying his best to hold eye contact. Sherlock for his part actually looks a little surprised.

"So, you were...in fact... thinking of _me_ during sexual intercourse with that woman."

" _God, Sherlock_." John says, embarrassment getting the better of him again. "Yes, alright?"

"In other words you desire sex _with me_." Sherlock says and he looks genuinely curious and John can not deal with this.

" _Oh no_. I'm not having this conversation with you Sherlock. Use that big brain of yours and figure it out."

" _Hmmm. Interesting."_ Sherlock says and John nearly chokes again. After he regians his composer he turns back to Sherlock's questioning gaze.

"I know I'm going to regret this, but what is so interesting about it?"


End file.
